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OMENJ 


Books  by 

MAY  SINCLAIR 


The  Helpmate 

The  Divine  Fire 

Two   Sides  of  a  Question 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nevill  Tyson 

Etc.,   etc. 


*  ' , 


"  Kitty's  face  ....  pleaded  with  the  other  face  in  the  glass." 


THE  innORTAL  HOTCNT 

1   The  Story  of  kilty  Tailleur      1 


-By 


HAY  SINCLAIR 


ILLU/TCATED  AND  DEODATED  •  BY 
CCOLE/   PHILLIP/: 


NE^v•  YORK. 

DOUBLE  DAT    PACrE   <S.  CO. 
t  •<)     O     6 


^•"-'O 
i'  rw 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  Kitty's  face 


pleaded  with  the 


other  face  in  the  class  " 


FRONTISPIECE 


*'  She  stood  there,  strangely  still  .  .  . 
before  the  pitiless  stare  that  went  up 
to  her  appealing  face "       .         .         .       10 

*'  'You   won't   be    tied  to  me  a  minute 

longer  than  you  like' "       .         .         .     208 


*'  'I  want  to  make  you  loathe  me 


never  see  me  again 


>  j> 


,     268 


OMEN 


T 


•  ■>       ■#       >    »         •      > 


»    '        •  St  •      » 


JHE  IMMQ^MALMONENJ 


CHAPTER  I 

THEY  came  into  the  hotel  dining-room 
like  young  persons  making  their  first 
entry  into  life.  They  carried  themselves  with 
an  air  of  subdued  audacity,  of  innocent  inquiry. 
"When  the  great  doors  opened  to  them  they 
stood  still  on  the  threshold,  charmed,  expec- 
tant. There  was  the  magic  of  quest,  of  pure, 
unspoiled  adventure  in  their  very  efforts 
to  catch  the  head-waiter's  eye.  It  was 
as  if  thev  called  from  its  fantastic  dwelling- 
place  the  attendant  spirit  of  delight. 

You  could  never  have  guessed  how  old 
they  were.  He,  at  thirty-five,  had  pre- 
served, by  some  miracle,  his  alert  and  slender 
adolescence.  In  his  brown,  clean-shaven 
face,  keen  with  pleasure,  you  saw  the  clear, 

3 


4.      THE   IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

serious  eyes  and  the  adorable  smile  of  seven- 
teen. She,  at  thirty,  had  kept  the  wide 
eyes  and  tender  mouth  of  childhood.  Her 
face  had  a  child's  immortal,  spiritual  appeal. 

They  were  charming  with  each  other. 
You  might  have  taken  them  for  bride  and 
bridegroom,  his  absorption  in  her  was  so 
unimpaired.  But  their  names  in  the  visitors' 
book  stood  as  Mr.  Robert  Lucy  and  Miss 
Jane  Lucy.  They  were  brother  and  sister. 
You  gathered  it  from  something  absurdly 
alike  in  their  faces,  something  profound  and 
racial  and  enduring. 

For  they  combined  it  all,  the  youth,  the 
abandonment,  the  innocence,  with  an  indomit- 
able  distinction. 

They  made  their  way  with  easy,  unem- 
barrassed movements,  and  seated  themselves 
at  a  table  by  an  open  window.  They  bent 
their  brows  together  over  the  menu.  The 
head-waiter  (who  had  flown  at  last  to  their 
high  summons)  made  them  his  peculiar  care, 
and   they   turned   to   him  with   the   helpless- 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT         5 

ness  of  children.  He  told  them  what  things 
they  would  like,  what  things  (he  seemed  to 
say)  would  be  good  for  them.  And  when 
he  went  away  with  their  order  they  looked 
at  each  other  and  laughed,  softly  and 
instantaneously. 

They  had  done  the  right  thing.  They 
both  said  it  at  the  same  moment,  smiling 
triumphantly  into  each  other's  face.  South- 
bourne  was  exquisite  in  young  June,  at  the 
dawn  of  its  season.  And  the  Cliff  Hotel 
promised  what  they  wanted,  a  gay  seclusion, 
a  refined  publicity. 

If  you  were  grossly  rich,  you  went  to  the 
big  Hotel  Metropole,  opposite.  If  you  were 
a  person  of  fastidious  tastes  and  an  attenu- 
ated income,  you  felt  the  superior  charm 
of  the  Cliff  Hotel.  The  little  house,  the 
joy  of  its  proprietor,  was  hidden  in  the 
privacy  of  its  own  beautiful  grounds,  having 
its  back  to  the  high  road  and  its  face  to  the 
open  sea.  They  had  taken  stock  of  it  that 
morning,  with  its  clean  walls,   white  as  the 


6        THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


Cliff  it  stood  on;  its  bay  windows,  its  long, 
green-roofed  veranda,  looking  south;  its 
sharp,  slated  roofs  and  gables,  all  sheltered  by 
the  folding  Downs. 

They  did  not  know  which  of  them  had 
first  suggested  Southbourne.  Probably 
they  had  both  thought  of  it  at  the  same 
moment,  as  they  were  thinking  now.  But 
it  was  she  who  had  voted  for  the  Cliff  Hotel, 
in  preference  to  lodgings.  She  thought 
that  in  an  hotel  there  would  be  more  scope, 
more  chance  of  things  happening. 

Jane  was  alwavs  on  the  look-out  for 
things  happening.  He  saw  her  now,  with 
her  happy  eyes,  and  her  little,  tilted  nose, 
sniffing  the  air,  scanning  the  horizon. 

He  knew  Jane  and  her  adventures  well. 
They  were  purely,  pathetically  vicarious. 
Jane  was  the  thrall  of  her  own  sympathy. 
So  was  he.  At  a  hint  she  was  off,  and  he 
after  her,  on  wild  paths  of  inference,  on 
perilous  oceans  of  conjecture.  Only  he 
moved   more   slowly,   and  he   knew   the   end 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


of  it.  He  had  seen,  before  now,  her  joyous 
leap  to  land,  on  shores  of  manifest  disaster. 
He  protested  against  that  jumping  to  con- 
clusions. He,  for  his  part,  took  conclusions 
in  his  stride. 

But  Jane  was  always  listening  for  a  call 
from  some  foreign  country  of  the  soul. 
She  was  always  entering  surreptitiously  into 
other  people's  feelings.  They  never  caught 
her  at  it,  never  suspected  her  soft-footed, 
innocent  intrusions. 

She  was  wondering  now  whether  they 
would  have  to  make  friends  with  any  of  the 
visitors.  She  hoped  not,  because  that  would 
spoil  it,  the  adventure.  People  had  a  way 
of  telling  her  their  secrets,  and  Jane  pre- 
ferred not  to  be  told.  All  she  wanted  was 
an  inkline:,  a  clue:  the  slenderer  the  better. 

The  guests  as  yet  assembled  were  not 
conspicuously    interesting. 

There  was  a  clergyman  dining  gloomily 
at  a  table  by  himself.  There  was  a  gray 
group    of    middle-aged    ladies    next    to    him. 


8        THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

There  was  Colonel  Hankin  and  his  wife. 
They  had  arrived  with  the  Lucys  in  the 
hotel  'bus,  and  their  names  were  entered 
above  Robert's  in  the  visitors'  book.  They 
marked  him  with  manifest  approval  as  one 
of  themselves,  and  they  looked  all  pink 
perfection  and  silver  white  propriety.  There 
was  the  old  lady  who  did  nothing  but  knit. 
She  had  arrived  in  a  fly,  knitting.  She  was 
knitting  now,  between  the  courses.  When 
she  caught  sight  of  the  Lucys  she  smiled 
at  them  over  her  knitting.  They  had  found 
her,  before  dinner,  with  her  feet  entangled 
in  a  skein  of  worsted.  Jane  had  shown 
tenderness  in  disentangling  her. 

It  was  almost  as  if  they  had  made  friends 
already. 

Jane's  eyes  roamed  and  lighted  on  a  fat,  wine- 
faced  man.  Lucy  saw  them.  He  teased  her, 
challenged  her.  She  did  n't  think,  did  she, 
she  could  do  anything  with  him  ? 

No.  Jane  thought  not.  He  was  n't  inter- 
esting.    There  was   nothing   that  you   could 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT         9 

take  hold  of,  except  that  he  seemed  to  be 
very  fond  of  ^yine,  poor  old  thing.  But 
then,  you  had  to  be  fond  of  something,  and 
perhaps  it  was  his  only  weakness.  What 
did  Robert  think  ? 

Robert  did  not  hear  her.  He  was  bend- 
ing forward,  looking  beyond  her,  across  the 
room  toward  the  great  doors.  They  had 
swung  open  again,  with  a  flash  of  their  glass 
panels,  to  give  passage  to  a  lady. 

She  came  slowly,  with  the  irresistible 
motion  of  creatures  that  divide  and  trouble 
the  medium  in  which  they  move.  The 
white,  painted  wainscot  behind  her  showed 
her  small,  eager  head,  its  waving  rolls  and 
crowning  heights  of  hair,  black  as  her  gown. 
She  had  a  sweet  face,  curiously  foreshortened 
by  a  low  forehead  and  the  briefest  of  chins. 
It  was  white  with  the  same  whiteness  as  her 
neck,  her  shoulders,  her  arms  —  a  whiteness 
pure  and  profound.  This  face  she  kept 
thrust  a  little  forward,  while  her  eyes  looked 
round,    steadily,    deliberately,    for    the    place 


10       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

where  she  desired  to  be.  She  carried  on 
her  arm  a  long  tippet  of  brown  fur.  It 
slipped,  and  her  effort  to  recover  it  brought 
her  to  a  standstill. 

The  large,  white  room,  half  empty  at  this 
season,  gave  her  up  bodily  to  what  seemed 
to  Lucy  the  intolerable  impudence  of  the 
public  gaze. 

She  was  followed  by  an  older  lady  who 
had  the  air  of  making  her  way  with  diffi- 
culty and  vexation  through  an  unpleasantly 
crowded  space.  This  lady  was  somewhat 
oddly  attired  in  a  white  dress  cut  high  with 
a  Puritan  intention,  but  otherwise  indiscreetly 
youthful.  She  kept  close  to  the  tail  of  her 
companion's  gown,  and  tracked  its  charm- 
ing evolutions  with  an  irritated  eye.  Her 
whole  aspect  was  evidently  a  protest  against 
the  publicity  she  was  compelled  to  share. 

Lucy  was  not  interested  in  her.  He  was 
watching  the  lady  in  black  who  was  now 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Her 
elbow  touched  the  shoulder  of  a  young  man 


•V   PHiitipa. 


'♦  She  stood  there,  strangely  still  ....  before  the  pitiless 
stare  that  went  up  to  her  appealing  face." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       11 


on  her  left.  The  fur  tippet  slipped  again 
and  lay  at  the  young  man's  feet.  He  picked 
it  up,  and  as  he  handed  it  to  her  he  stared 
into  her  face,  and  sleeked  his  little  moustache 
above  a  furtive,  objectionable  smile.  His 
companion  (Jane's  uninteresting  man),  roused 
from  communion  with  the  spirit  of  Veuve 
Cliquot,  fixed  on  the  lady  a  pair  of  blood- 
shot eyes  in  a  brutal,  wine-dark  face. 

She  stood  there,  strangely  still,  it  seemed 
to  Lucy,  before  the  pitiless  stare  that  went 
up,  right  and  left,  to  her  appealing  face. 
She  was  looking,  it  seemed  to  him,  for  her 
refuge. 

She  moved  forward.  The  Colonel,  pinker 
than  ever  in  his  perfection,  lowered  his  eyes 
as  she  approached.  She  paused  again  in  her 
progress  beside  the  clergyman  on  her  right. 
He  looked  severely  at  her,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "Madam,  if  you  drop  that  thing  in 
my  neighbourhood,  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
pick  it  up." 

An  obsequious  waiter  pointed  out  a  table 


12       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

next  to  the  middle-aged  ladies.  She  shook 
her  head  at  the  middle-aged  ladies.  She 
turned  in  her  course,  and  her  eyes  met 
Lucy's.  He  said  something  to  his  sister. 
Jane  rose  and  changed  her  seat,  thus  clear- 
ing the  way  to  a  table  that  stood  beside 
theirs,  empty,  secluded  in  the  bay  of  the 
window. 

The  lady  in  black  came  swiftly,  as  if  to 
the  place  of  her  desire.  The  glance  that 
expressed  her  gratitude  went  from  Lucy  to 
Jane  and  from  Jane  to  Lucy,  and  rested  on 
him  for  a  moment. 

As  the  four  grouped  themselves  at  their 
respective  tables,  the  lady  in  white,  seated 
with  her  back  to  the  window,  commanded 
a  front  and  side  view  of  Jane.  The  lady  in 
black  sat  facing  Lucy. 

She  put  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  turned 
her  face  (her  profile  was  remarkably  pretty) 
to  her  companion. 

'"Well,"  said  she,  "don't  you  want  to  sit 
here  ?  " 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       13 

*'Oh,"  said  the  older  woman,  "what  does 
it  matter  where  we  sit?" 

She  spoke  in  a  small,  crowing  voice,  the 
voice,  Lucy  said  to  himself,  of  a  rather 
terrible   person.     She   shivered. 

"Poor  lamb,  does  it  feel  a  draught  down 
its  little  back.^" 

The  lady  rose  and  put  her  fur  tippet  on 
the  shiverino;  shoulders.  Thev  shrank  from 
her,  and  she  drew  it  closer  and  fastened  it 
with  caressing  and  cajoling  fingers.  There 
was  about  her  something  impetuous  and 
perverse,  a  wilful,  ungovernable  tenderness. 
Her  hands  had  the  swiftness  of  things  moved 
by  sweet,  disastrous  impulses. 

The  white  person  (she  was  quite  terrible) 
undid  the  fastening  and  shook  her  shoulders 
free  of  the  fur.  It  slid  to  the  floor  for  the 
third  time. 

Lucy  rose  from  his  place,  picked  up  the 
fur  and  restored  it  to  its  owner. 

The  quite  terrible  person  flushed  with 
vexation. 


14       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"You  see,"  said  the  lady,  "the  trouble 
you  've  given  that  nice  man." 

"Oh  don't!  he'll  hear  you." 

"If  he  does,  he  won't  mind,"  said  the 
lady. 

He  did  hear  h«r.  It  was  diflBcult  not  to 
hear,  not  to  look  at  her,  not  to  be  interested 
in  every  movement  that  she  made.  Her 
charm,  however,  was  powerless  over  her 
companion. 

Their  voices,  to  Lucy's  relief,  sank  low. 
Then   suddenly   the   companion   spoke. 

"Of  course,"  said  she,  "if  you  want  all 
the  men  to  look  at  you " 

Lucy  looked  no  more.  He  heard  the 
lady  draw  in  her  breath  with  a  soft,  sharp 
sound,  and  he  felt  his  blood  running  scarlet 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"I  believe"  (the  older  lady  spoke  almost 
vindictively)  "you  like  it." 

The  head-waiter,  opportune  in  all  his 
approaches,  brought  coffee  at  that  moment. 
Lucy   turned   his   chair   slightly,    so   that   he 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       15 

presented  his  back  to  the  speaker,  and  to 
the  lady  in  black  his  side-face,  shaded  by 
his  hand,  conspicuously  penitential. 

Jane  tried  to  set  everybody  at  their  ease 
by  talking  in  a  clear,  cool  voice  about  the 
beautiful  decorations,  the  perfect  manage- 
ment of  the  hotel.  The  two  drank  their 
coffee  hastily  and  left  the  table.  In  the 
doorway  Lucy  drew  the  head-waiter  aside. 

"Who,"  said  he,  "is  that  lady  in  the 
window.?" 

"The  lady  in  the  window,  sir.^^  Miss 
Keating,   sir." 

"I  mean  —  the  other  lady." 

The  head-waiter  looked  reproachfully  at 
Lucy  and  apologetically  at  Jane. 

"The  lady  in  black,  sir.?  You  want  to 
know  her  name.?" 

"Yes." 

"Her  name,  sir,  is  Mrs.  Tailleur." 

His  manner  intimated  respectfully  that 
Lucy  would  not  like  Mrs.  Tailleur,  and  that, 
if  he  did,   she  would  not  be  good  for  him. 


16       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

The  brother  and  sister  went  out  into  the 
hotel  garden.  They  strolled  up  and  down 
the  cool,  green  lawns  that  overhung  the 
beach. 

Lucy  smoked  and  was  silent. 

"Jane,"  he  said  presently,  "could  ijou  see 
what  she  did.?" 

*'I  was  just  going,"  said  Jane,  "to  ask 
you  that." 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  can't  see  it,"  said  he. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Jane. 

"Could  you  see  what  I  did.?" 

"What  you  did.?" 

"Yes,  I.     Did  I  look  at  her.?" 

"Well,  yes;  certainly  you  looked  at  her." 

"And  you  think  she  minded.?" 

"No;  I  don't  think  she  minded  very 
much." 

"Come,  she  couldn't  have  liked  it,  could 
she.?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  think  she  noticed 
it.  You  see"  (Jane  was  off  on  the  adventure) 
"she's    in   mourning   for   her   husband.    He 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       17 

has  been  dead  about  two  years.  He  was  n't 
very  kind  to  her,  and  she  does  n't  know 
whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry  he 's  dead.  She 's 
unhappy  and  afraid." 

"I  say,  how  do  you  know  ail  that.^" 
*'I  know,"  said  Jane,  "because  I  see  it  in 
her  face;  and  in  her  clothes.     I  always  see 
things." 
He  laughed  at  that. 


CHAPTER  II 

THEY  talked  a  long  time  as  they  paced 
the  green  lawns,  linked  arm  in  arm, 
keeping  their  own  path  fastidiously. 

Miss  Keating,  Mrs.  Tailleur's  companion, 
watched  them  from  her  seat  on  the  veranda. 

She  had  made  her  escape  from  the  great, 
lighted  lounge  behind  her  w^here  the  men 
were  sitting.  She  had  found  a  corner  out 
of  sight  of  its  wide  windows.  She  knew 
that  Kitty  Tailleur  was  in  there  somewhere. 
She  could  hear  her  talking  to  the  men.  At 
the  other  end  of  the  veranda  the  old  lady 
sat  with  her  knitting.  From  time  to  time 
she  looked  up  over  her  needles  and  glanced 
curiously  at  Miss  Keating. 

On  the  lawn  below,  Colonel  Hankin 
walked  with  his  wife.  They  kept  the  same 
line  as  the  Lucys,  so  that,  in  rhythmic  instants, 
the    couples    made    one    group.     There    was 

18 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       19 

an  affinity,  a  harmony  in  their  movements 
as  they  approached  each  other.  They  were 
all  obviously  nice  people,  people  who  belonged 
by  right  to  the  same  group,  who  might 
approach  each  other  without  any  impropriety. 

Miss  Keating  wondered  how  long  it  would 
be  before  Kitty  Tailleur  would  approach 
Mr.  Lucy.  That  afternoon,  on  her  arrival, 
she  had  approached  the  Colonel,  and  the 
Colonel  had  got  up  and  gone  away.  Kitty 
had  then  laughed.  Miss  Keating  suspected 
her  of  a  similar  social  intention  with  regard 
to  the  younger  man.  She  knew  his  name. 
She  had  looked  it  up  in  the  visitors'  book. 
(She  was  always  looking  up  people's  names.) 
She  had  made  with  determination  for  the 
table  next  to  him.  Miss  Keating,  in  the 
dawn  of  their  acquaintance,  had  prayed  that 
Mrs.  Tailleur  might  not  elect  to  sit  next 
anybody  who  was  not  nice.  Latterly  she 
had  found  herself  hoping  that  their  place 
might  not  be  in  view  of  anybody  who  was. 

For    three    months    they    had    been    living 


20       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


in  hotels,  in  horrifying  publicity.  Miss 
Keating  dreaded  most  the  hour  they  had 
just  passed  through.  There  was  something 
terrible  to  her  in  their  entry,  in  their  passage 
down  the  great,  white,  palm-shaded,  exotic 
room,  their  threading  of  the  ways  between 
the  tables,  with  all  the  men  turning  round 
to  stare  at  Kitty  Tailleur.  It  was  all  very 
well  for  Kitty  to  pretend  that  she  saved  her 
by  thus  diverting  and  holding  fast  the  public 
eye.  Miss  Keating  felt  that  the  tail  of  it 
flicked  her  unpleasantly  as  she  followed  in 
that  troubled,  luminous  wake. 

It  had  not  been  quite  so  unbearable  in 
Brighton,  at  Easter,  when  the  big  hotels 
were  crowded,  and  Mrs.  Tailleur  was  not 
so  indomitably  conspicuous.  Or  else  Miss 
Keating  had  not  been  so  painfully  alive  to 
her.  But  Southbourne  was  half  empty  in 
early  June,  and  the  Cliff  Hotel,  small  as  it 
was,  had  room  for  the  perfect  exhibition  of 
jVIi-s.  Tailleur.  It  gave  her  wide,  polished 
spaces  and  clean,  brilliant  backgrounds,  yards 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       21 

of  parquetry  for  the  gliding  of  her  feet, 
and  monstrous  mirrors  for  reflecting  her  face 
at  unexpected  angles.  These  distances  fined 
her  grace  still  finer,  and  lent  her  a  certain 
pathos,  the  charm  of  figures  vanishing  and 
remote. 

Not  that  you  could  think  of  Kitty  Tailleur 
as  in  the  least  remote  or  vanishing.  She 
seemed  to  be  always  approaching,  to  hover 
imminently  and  dangerously  near. 

Mr.  Lucy  looked  fairly  unapproachable. 
His  niceness,  Miss  Keating  imagined,  would 
keep  him  linked  arm  in  arm  with  his  sister, 
maintaining,  unconsciously,  inoffensively,  his 
distance  and  distinction.  He  would  manage 
better  than  the  Colonel.  He  would  not  have 
to  get  up  and  go  away.  So  Miss  Keating 
thought. 

From  the  lounge  behind  the  veranda, 
Kitty's  voice  came  to  her  again.  Kitty  was 
excited  and  her  voice  went  winged.  It  flew 
upward,  touched  a  perilous  height  and 
shook  there.     It  hung,  on  its  delicate,  ferni- 


22       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

nine  wings,  dominating  the  male  voices  that 
contended,  brutally,  below.  Now  and  then 
it  found  its  lyric  mate,  a  high,  adolescent 
voice  that  followed  it  with  frenzy,  that 
broke,  pitifully,  in  sharp,  abominable  laughter, 
like  a  cry  of  pain. 

Miss  Keating  shut  her  eyes  to  keep  out 
her  vision  of  Kitty's  face  with  the  look  it 
wore  when  her  voice  went  high. 

She  was  roused  by  the  waiter  bringing 
coffee.  Kitty  Tailleur  had  come  out  on  to 
the  veranda.  She  was  pouring  out  Grace 
Keating's  coffee,  and  talking  to  her  in  another 
voice,  the  one  that  she  kept  for  children 
and  for  animals,  and  for  all  diminutive  and 
helpless  things.  She  was  saying  that  Miss 
Keating  (whom  she  called  Bunny)  was  a 
dear  little  white  rabbit,  and  she  wanted  to 
stroke  her. 

"You  see,  you  are  so  very  small,"  said 
Kitty,  as  she  dropped  sugar  into  Miss  Keat- 
ing's cup.  She  had  ordered  cigarettes  and 
a   liqueur  for  herself. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       23 


Miss  Keating  said  nothing.  She  drank  her 
coffee  with  a  distasteful  movement  of  her  Hps. 

Kitty  Tailleur  stretched  herself  at  full 
length  on  a  garden  chair.  She  watched  her 
companion  with  eyes  secretly,  profoundly 
intent  under  lowered  lids. 

"Do  you  mind  my  smoking.^"  she  said 
presently. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Keating. 

"Do  you  mind  my  drinking  Kiimmel.^" 

"No." 

"Do  you  mind  my  showing  seven  inches 
of  stocking.^" 

"No." 

"What  do  you  mind,  then.?" 

"I  mind  your  making  yourself  so  very 
conspicuous." 

"I  don't  make  myself  conspicuous.  I  was 
born  so." 

"You  make  me  conspicuous.  Goodness 
knows  what  all  these  people  take  us  for!" 

"Holy  Innocent!  x\s  long  as  you  sit  tight 
and   do   your   hair   like   that,    nobody   could 


24       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


take  you  for  anything  but  a  dear  little  bunny 
with  its  ears  laid  back.  But  if  you  get 
palpitations  in  your  little  nose,  and  turn  up 
your  little  white  tail  at  people,  and  scuttle 
away  when  they  look  at  you,  you  can't 
blame  them  if  they  wonder  what 's  the  matter 
with  you." 

*'\Yith  me?'' 

"Yes;  it's  you  who  give  the  show  away.'* 
Kitty  smiled  into  her  liqueur  glass.  "It 
does  n't  seem  to  strike  you  that  your  behaviour 
compromises  me." 

Miss  Keating's  mouth  twitched.  Her 
narrow,  rather  prominent  front  teeth  lifted 
an  instant,  and  then  closed  sharply  on  her 
lower  lip.  Her  throat  trembled  as  if  she 
were  swallowing  some  bitter  thing  that  had 
been  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue. 

"If  you  think  that,"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  crowed  no  longer,  "wouldn't  it  be 
better  for  us  not  to  be  together.^" 

Kitty  shook  her  meditative  head.  "Poor 
Bunny,"  said  she,  "why  can't  you  be  honest.^ 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       25 


AVhy  don't  you  say  plump  out  that  you  're 
sick  and  tired  of  me?  /  should  be.  I 
could  n't  stand  another  woman  lugging  me 
about  as  I  lug  you." 

"It  isn't  that.  Only  —  everywhere  we  go 
—  there 's  always  some  horrible  man." 

"Everywhere  you  go,  dear  lamb,  there 
always  will  be." 

"Yes;  but  one  doesn't  have  anything  to 
do  with  them." 

"I  don't  have  anything  to  do  with  them." 

"You  talk  to  them." 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  Kitty.  "Why 
not.?" 

"You  don't  know  them." 

"H'm!  If  you  never  talk  to  people  you 
don't  know,  pray  how  do  you  get  to  know 
them.?" 

Kitty  sat  up  and  began  playing  w^ith  the 
matches  till  she  held  a  bunch  of  them  blazing 
in  her  hand.  She  was  blowing  out  the 
flame  as  the  Hankins  came  up  the  steps  of 
the   veranda.     They   had   a    smile    for    the 


26       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

old  lady  in  her  corner,  and  for  Miss  Keating 
a  look  of  wonder  and  curiosity  and  pity; 
but  they  turned  from  Mrs.  Tailleur  with 
guarded  eyes. 

"^Miat  do  you  bet,"  said  Kitty,  "that  I 
don't  make  that  long  man  there  come  and 
talk  to  me  ?  " 

"If  you  do ^" 

"I'll  do  it  before  you  count  ten.  One, 
two,    three,    four.     I    shall    ask    him    for    a 


light  - 

"Sh-sh!     He's  coming." 

Kitty  slid  her  feet  to  the  floor  and  covered 
them  with  her  skirt.  Then  she  looked  down, 
fascinated,  apparently,  by  the  shining  tips 
of  her  shoes.  You  could  have  drawn  a 
straight  line  from  her  feet  to  the  feet  of  the 
man  coming  up  the  lawn. 

"Five,  six,  seven."  Kitty  ht  her  last 
match.  "T-t-t!  The  jamfounded  thing's 
gone  out." 

The  long  man's  sister  came  up  the  steps 
of   the   veranda.      The    long   man   followed 


THE  IMMORTAL  ]\IO:\IENT       27 


her    slowly,    with    deliberate    pauses    in    his 
stride. 

"Eight,  nine,"  said  Kitty,  under  her  breath. 
She  waited. 

The  man's  eyes  had  been  upon  her;  but 
in  the  approach  he  lowered  them,  and  as  he 
passed  her  he  turned  away  his  head. 

"It's  no  use,"  said  Miss  Keating;  "you 
can't  have  it  both  ways." 

Kitty  was  silent.     Suddenly  she  laughed. 

"Bunny,"  said  she,  "would  you  like  to 
marry  the  long  man.^" 

Miss  Keating's  mouth  closed  tightly,  with 
an  effort,  covering  her  teeth. 

Kitty  leaned  forward.  "Perhaps  you  can 
if  you  want  to.  Long  men  sometimes  go 
crazy  about  little  women.  And  you  'd  have 
such  dear  little  long  babies  —  little  babies 
with  long  faces.  Why  not  .=  You  're  just 
the  ri^rht  size  for  him.  He  could  make  a 
memorandum  of  you  and  put  you  in  his 
pocket;  or  you  could  hang  on  his  arm  like 
a    dear    little    umbrella.     It    would    be    all 


28       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

right.  You  may  take  it  from  me  that  man 
is  entirely  moral.  He  would  n't  think  of 
going  out  without  his  umbrella.  And  he  'd 
be  so  nice  when  the  little  umbrellas  came. 
Dear  Bunny,  face  massage  would  do  wonders 
for  you.  Why  ever  not  ?  He 's  heaps  nicer 
than  that  man  at  the  Hydro,  and  you  'd  have 
married  him,  you  know  you  would,  if  I 
had  n't  told  you  he  was  a  commercial  traveller. 
Never  mind,  ducky;  I  dare  say  he  was  n't." 

Kitty  curled  herself  up  tight  on  the  long 
chair  and  smiled  dreamily  at  Miss  Keating. 

"Do  you  remember  the  way  you  used  to 
talk  at  Matlock,  just  after  I  found  you 
there  .^  You  were  such  a  rum  little  thing. 
You  said  it  would  be  very  much  better  if 
we  had  n't  any  bodies,  so  that  people  could 
fall  in  love  in  a  prettier  way,  and  only  be 
married  spiritually.  You  said  God  ought 
to  have  arranged  things  on  that  footing. 
You  looked  so  miserable  when  you  said  it. 
By  the  way,  I  would  n't  go  about  saying 
that  sort  of  thing  to  people.    That's  how  I 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       29 

spotted  you.  I  know  men  think  it's  one  of 
the  symptoms." 

"Symptoms  of  what?" 

*'Of  that  state  of  mind.  When  a  woman 
comes  to  me  and  talks  about  being  spiritual, 
I  always  know  she  is  n't  —  at  the  moment. 
You  asked  me,  Bunny  —  the  second  time  I 
met  you  —  if  I  believed  in  spiritual  love,  and 
all  that.  I  did  n't,  and  I  don't.  AVhen 
you  're  gone  on  a  man  all  you  want  is  to 
get  him,  and  keep  him  to  yourself.  I  dare 
say  it  feels  jolly  spiritual  —  especially,  when 
you  're  not  sure  of  the  man  —  but  it  is  n't.  If 
you  're  gone  on  him  enough  to  give  him  up 
when  you  've  got  him,  there  might  be  some 
spirituality  in  that.  I  shall  believe  in  it 
when  I  see  it  done." 

"Seriously,"  she  continued,  "if  you  'd 
been  married.  Bunny,  you  would  n't  have 
had  half  such  a  beastly  time.  You  're  one  of 
those  leaning,  clinging  little  women  who 
require  a  strong,  safe  man  to  support  them. 
You  ought  to  be  married." 


30       THE  IMMORTAL  :M0MENT 

Miss  Keating  smiled  a  little  sad,  spiritual 
smile,  and  said  that  was  the  last  thing  she 
wanted. 

"Well,"  said  Kitty,  "I  didn't  say  it  was 
the  first." 

Kitty's  smile  was  neither  sad  nor  spiritual. 
She  uncurled  herself,  got  up,  and  stood  over 
her  companion,  stroking  her  sleek,  thin  hair. 

Miss  Keating  purred  under  the  caress. 
She  held  up  her  hand  to  Kitty  who  took  it 
and  gave  it  a  squeeze  before  she  let  it  go. 

"Poor  Bunnv.  Nice  Bunnv,"  she  said 
(as  if  Miss  Keating  were  an  animal).  She 
stretched  out  her  arms,  turned,  and  dis- 
appeared through  the  lounge  into  the  billiard- 
room. 


I 


CHAPTER  III 

T  COULD  not  be  denied  that  Kitty  had  a 
charm.  Miss  Keatinfj  was  not  denvino^ 
it,  even  now,  when  she  was  saying  to  herself 
that  Kitty  had  a  way  of  attracting  very 
disagreeable  attention. 

At  first  she  had  supposed  that  this  was  an 
effect  of  Kitty's  charm,  disagreeable  to  Kitty. 
Then,  even  in  the  beginning,  she  had  seen 
that  there  was  something  deliberate  and 
perpetual  in  Kitty's  challenge  of  the  public 
eye.  The  public  eye,  so  far  from  pursuing 
Kitty,  was  itself  pursued,  tracked  down  and 
captured.  Kitty  could  n't  let  it  go.  Publicity 
was  what  Kitty  coveted. 

She  had  then  supposed  that  Kitty  was 
used  to  it;  that  she  was,  in  some  mvsterious 
way,  a  personage.  There  would  be  tempta- 
tions, she  had  imagined,  for  any  one  who  had 
a  charm  that  lived  thus  in  the  j^ublic  eye. 

31 


32       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

And  Kitty  had  her  good  points,  too. 
There  was  nobody  so  easy  to  Uve  with  as 
Kitty  in  her  private  capacity,  if  she  could 
be  said  to  have  one.  She  never  wanted  to 
be  amused,  or  read  to,  or  sat  up  with  late  at 
night,  like  the  opulent  invalids  INIiss  Keating 
had  been  with  hitherto.  Miss  Keating  owed 
everything  she  had  to  Kitty,  her  health  (she 
was  constitutionally  ansemic),  her  magnificent 
salary,  the  luxurious  gaiety  in  which  they 
lived  and  moved  (moved,  perhaps,  rather 
more  than  lived).  The  very  combs  in  her 
hair  were  Kitty's.  So  were  the  gowns  she 
wore  on  occasions  of  splendour  and  display. 
It  struck  her  as  odd  that  they  were  all  public, 
these  occasions,  things  they  paid  to  go  to. 

It  had  dawned  on  her  by  this  time,  coldly, 
disagreeably,  that  Kitty  Tailleur  was  nobody, 
nobody,  that  is  to  say,  in  particular.  A 
person  of  no  account  in  the  places  where 
they  had  stayed.  In  their  three  months' 
wanderings  they  had  never  been  invited  to 
any  private  house.     Miss  Keating  could  not 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       33 

account  for  that  air  of  ill-defined  celebrity 
that  hung  round  Kitty  like  a  scent,  and  marked 
her   trail. 

Not  that  any  social  slur  seemed  to  attach 
to  Kitty.  The  acquaintances  she  had  made 
in  her  brief  and  curious  fashion  were  all,  or 
nearly  all,  socially  immaculate.  The  friends 
(they  were  all  men)  who  came  to  her  of 
their  own  intimate  accord,  belonged,  some  of 
them,  to  an  aristocracy  higher  than  that 
represented  by  Mr.  Lucy  or  the  Colonel. 
xA.nd  they  had  been  by  no  means  impervious 
to  Kitty's  charm. 

From  the  sounds  that  came  from  the 
billiard-room  she  gathered  that  Kitty's  charm 
appealed  also  to  her  audience  in  there. 
Leaning  her  body  forward  so  as  to  listen, 
Miss  Keating  became  aware  that  Lucy  had 
returned  to  the  lounge,  and  was  strolling 
about  in  it,  as  if  he  were  looking  for  some- 
body.    He  strolled  into  the  veranda. 

The  garden  was  dark  now,  but  a  little 
light    fell    on     the    veranda    from    the    open 


34       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

windows  of  the  lounge.  Lucy  looked  at 
Mrs.  Tailleur's  empty  chair.  He  was  about 
to  sit  in  it  when  he  saw  that  he  was  alone 
with  Mrs.  Tailleur's  companion.  He  rose 
again  for  flight.  Miss  Keating  rose  also  with 
the  same  intention. 

Lucy  protested.  "Please  don't  let  me 
disturb  you.     I  am  not  going  to  sit  here." 

"But  I  am  driving  you  in." 

"Not  at  all.  I  only  thought  you  might 
object  to  my  smoking." 

"But  I  don't  object." 

"You  don't,  really.^" 

"If  I  stay,"  said  she,  "will  that  prove  WV 

"Please  do,"  said  Lucy. 

INIiss  Keating  pushed  her  chair  as  far  as 
possible  from  his.  She  seated  herself  with  a 
fugitive,  sidelong  movement;  as  much  as  to 
say  she  left  him  to  the  sanctuary  he  sought. 
He  would  please  to  observe  the  perfection  of 
her  withdrawal.  The  table  with  the  match- 
stand  on  it  stood  between  them. 

Lucy   approached   the   match-stand   tenta- 


THE  IMMORTAL  M0:MENT       35 

lively.  Miss  Keating,  averted  and  effaced, 
was  yet  aware  of  him. 

"I'm  afraid  there  are  no  matches,"  said 
she.  "Mrs.  Tailleur  has  used  them  all." 
So  effaced  and  so  averted  was  Miss  Keating 
that  there  was  nothing  left  of  her  but  a 
sweet,  attenuated,  disembodied  voice.  It  was 
as  if  spirit  spoke  to  spirit  with  the  consecrated 
doors    between. 

Lucy  smiled.  He  paused  at  Mrs.  Tailleur's 
chair. 

"Is  your  friend  coming  back  again .^"  he 
asked. 

"I  don't  think  so." 

It  might  have  been  an  effect  of  her  remote- 
ness, but  Miss  Keating's  tone  conveyed 
to  him  ever  so  slight  a  repudiation  of  Mrs. 
Tailleur. 

He  seated  himself;  and  as  he  did  so  he 
searched  his  coat  pockets.  There  were  no 
matches  there.  He  knew  he  would  find  some 
in  the  lounge.  Perhaps  he  might  find  Mrs. 
Tailleur  also.     He  would  get  up  and  look. 


36       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Miss  Keating  (still  disembodied)  rose  and 
withdrew  herself  completely,  and  Lucy  thought 
better  of  his  intention.  He  lay  back  and 
closed  his  eyes. 

A  light  tap  on  the  table  roused  him.  It 
was  Miss  Keating  laying  down  a  match-box. 
He  saw  her  hand  poised  yet  in  the  delicacy 
of  its  imperceptible  approach. 

He  stared,  stupefied  with  embarrassment. 
He  stuttered  with  it.  "Really — I  —  I — I 
wish  you  had  n't."  He  did  not  take  up  the 
match-box  all  at  once,  lest  he  should  seem 
prompt  in  accepting  this  rather  extraordinary 
service. 

Mrs.  Tailleur's  companion  slid  back  into 
her  seat  and  sat  there  smiling;  to  herself  and 
to  the  incommunicative  night. 

*'I  hope,'*  she  said  presently,  "you  are 
not  refraining  from  smoking  because  of 
me." 

She  was  very  sweet  and  soft  and  gentle. 
But  she  had  not  struck  him  as  gentle  or  soft 
or  sweet  when  he  had   seen  her  with   Mrs. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       37 

Tailleur,  and  he  was  not  prepared  to  take 
that  view  of  her  now. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  He  could  not 
think  of  anything  else  to  say.  He  Ht  his 
cigarette,  and  smoked  in  an  innocent 
abstraction. 

A  clock  indoors  struck  ten.  Miss  Keating 
accounted  for  her  continuance.  "It  is  the 
only  quiet  place  in  the  hotel,"  said  she. 

He  assented,  wondering  if  this  were  meant 
for  a  conversational  opening. 

"And  the  night  air  is  so  very  sw^eet  and 
pure." 

"I'm  afraid  you  find  this  smoke  of  mine 
anything   but " 


a 


If  you  are  so  serious  about  it,"  said  she,  "I 
shall  be  afraid  either  to  stay  out  or  to  go  in." 
If  there  were  any  opening  there  he  missed 
it.  He  had  turned  at  the  sound  of  a  skirt 
trailing,  and  he  saw  that  Mrs.  Tailleur  had 
come  back  into  the  lounge.  He  w^as  thought- 
ful for  a  moment.  Then  he  got  up  quietly 
and  went  in. 


38       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


He  did  not  speak  to  her  or  look  at  her. 
He  sat  very  still  in  a  corner  of  the  room 
where  he  could  see  her  reflection  in  a  big 
mirror.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  Mrs. 
Tailleur  could  see  his,  too. 

Outside  in  the  veranda.  Miss  Keating 
sat  shuddering  in  the  night  air. 


CHAPTER  IV 

LUCY'S  mind  was  like  his  body.  Super- 
ficial people  called  it  narrow,  because 
the  sheer  length  of  it  diverted  their  attention 
from  its  breadth.  Visionary,  yet  eager  for 
the  sound  impact  of  the  visible,  it  was  never 
more  alert  than  when  it,  so  to  speak,  sat  still, 
absorbed  in  its  impressions.  It  was  the  sport 
of  young  and  rapid  impulses,  which  it  seemed 
to  obey  sluggishly,  while,  all  the  time,  it 
moved  with  immense,  slow  strides  to  incred- 
ibly far  conclusions.  Having  reached  a  con- 
clusion it  was  apt  to  stay  there.  The  very 
length  of  its  stride  made  turning  awkward 
for  it. 

He  had  reached  a  conclusion  now,  on  his 
third  night  in  Southbourne.  He  must  do 
something,  he  did  not  yet  know  what,  for 
the  protection  of  Mrs.  Tailleur. 

Her   face   was   an   appeal   to   the  chivalry 

39 


40       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

that  sat  quiet  in  Lucy's  heart,  nursing  young 
dreams    of    opportunity. 

Lucy's  chivalry  had  been  formed  by  tliree 
weeks  of  courtship  and  three  years  of 
wedded  incompatibihty.  The  incompatibility 
had  hardly  dawned  on  him  when  his  wife 
died.  Three  years  were  too  short  a  space 
for  Lucy's  mind  to  turn  in;  and  so  he  always 
thought  of  her  tenderly  as  dear  little  Amy. 
She  had  given  him  two  daughters  and  paid 
for  the  younger  with  her  life. 

Five  years  of  fatherhood  finished  his  train- 
ing  in  the  school  of  chivalry.  He  had  been 
profoundly  moved  by  little  Amy's  sacrifice 
to  the  powers  of  life,  and  he  was  further 
touched  by  the  heartrending  spectacle  of 
Jane.  Jane  doing  all  she  knew  for  him; 
Jane,  so  engaging  in  her  innocence,  hiding 
her  small,  childlike  charm  under  dark  airs 
of  assumed  maternity;  Jane,  whose  skirts 
fluttered  wide  to  all  the  winds  of  dream; 
Jane  with  an  apron  on  and  two  little  girls 
tied  to  the  strings   of  it;  Jane,   adorable  in 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT      41 

disaster,  striving  to  be  discreet  and  comfort- 
able and  competent. 

He  had  a  passionate  pity  for  all  creatures 
troubled  and  unfortunate.  And  ]\Irs.  Tail- 
leur's  face  called  aloud  to  him  for  pity.  For 
Lucy  Mrs.  Tailleur's  face  wore,  like  a  veil, 
the  shadow  of  the  incredible  past  and  of  the 
future;  it  was  reminiscent  and  prophetic  of 
terrible  and  tragic  things.  Across  the  great 
spaces  of  the  public  rooms  his  gaze  answered 
her  call.  Then  Mrs.  Tailleur's  face  would 
become  dumb.  Like  all  hurt  things,  she 
was  manifestly  shy  of  observation  and  pur- 
suit. 

Pursuit  and  observation,  perpetual,  im- 
placable, were  what  she  had  to  bear.  The 
women  had  driven  her  from  the  drawing- 
room;  the  men  made  the  smoke-room  im- 
possible. A  cold,  wet  mist  came  with  the 
evenings.  It  lay  over  the  sea  and  drenched 
the  lawns  of  the  hotel  garden.  Mrs.  Tailleur 
had  no  refuge  but  the  lounge. 

To-night    the    wine-faced    man    and    his 


42  THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

companion  had  tracked  her  there.  Mrs. 
Tailleur  had  removed  herself  from  the  corner 
where  they  had  hemmed  her  in.  She  had 
found  an  unoccupied  sofa  near  the  writing- 
table.  The  pursuer  was  seized  instantly  with 
a  desire  to  write  letters.  Mrs.  Tailleur  went 
out  and  shivered  on  the  veranda.  His  eyes 
followed  her.  In  passing  she  had  turned  her 
back  on  the  screened  hearth-place  where  Lucy 
and  his  sister  sat  alone. 

"Did  you  see  that  ?"  said  Lucy. 

"I  did  indeed,"  said  Jane. 

"It's  awful  that  a  woman  should  be  ex- 
posed to  that  sort  of  thing.  ^Miat  can  her 
people  be  thinking  oi?" 

"Her  people?" 

"Yes;  to  let  her  go  about  alone." 

"I  go  about  alone,"  said   Jane  pensively. 

"Yes,   but  she  's  so  good  looking." 

"Am  I  not.?" 

"You  're  all  right,  Jenny;  but  you  never 
looked  like  that.  There 's  something  about 
her " 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       43 

"Is  that  what  makes  those  men  horrid 
to  her?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  The  brutes!"  He 
paused       irritably.         "It    mustn't    happen 


again." 


**" What's  the  poor  lady  to  do.^"  said 
Jane. 

"She  can't  do  anything.      We  must." 

"We.?" 

"I  must.  You  must.  Go  out  to  her, 
Janey,  and  be  nice  to  her." 

"No,  you  go  and  say  I  sent  you." 

He  strode  out  on  to  the  veranda.  Mrs. 
Tailleur  sat  with  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
motionless,  and,  to  his  senses,  unaware. 

"Mrs.    Tailleur." 

She  started  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"  My  sister  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  there  's 
a  seat  for  you  in  there,  if  you  don't  mind 
sitting  with  us." 

"But  won't  you  mind  me.?" 

"Not — not,"  said  Lucy  (he  positively 
stammered),  "not  if  you  don't  mind  us." 


44       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Mrs.  Tailleur  looked  at  him  again,  wide 
eyed,  with  the  strange  and  pitiful  candour 
of  distrust.  Then  she  smiled  incomprehen- 
sibly. 

Her  eyelids  dropped  as  she  slid  past  him 
to  the  seat  beside  Jane.  He  noticed  that 
she  had  the  sudden,  furtive  ways  of  the 
wild  thing  aware  of  the  hunter. 

"May  I  really.?"  said  Mrs.  Tailleur. 

"Oh,  i:)leasej'  said  Jane. 

As  she  spoke  the  man  at  the  writing- 
table  looked  up  and  stared.  Not  at  Mrs. 
Tailleur  this  time,  but  at  Jane.  He  stared 
with  a  wonder  so  spontaneous,  so  supreme, 
that  it  purged  him  of  offence. 

He  stared  again  (with  less  innocence) 
at  Lucy  as  the  young  man  gave  way,  rever- 
ently, to  the  sweep  of  Mrs.  Tailleur's  gown. 
Lucy's  face  intimated  to  him  that  he  had 
made  a  bad  mistake.  The  wretch  admitted, 
by  a  violent  flush,  that  it  was  possible.  Then 
his  eyes  turned  again  to  Mrs.  Tailleur.  It 
was   as  much  as   to  say  he  had    only  been 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       45 

relying  on  the  incorruptible  evidence  of  his 
senses. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  sat  down  and  breathed  hard. 

'*How  sweet  of  you!"  Her  voice  rang 
with  the  labour  of  her  breast. 

Lucy  smiled  as  he  caught  the  word.  He 
would  have  condemned  the  stress  of  it,  but 
that  Mrs.  Tailleur's  voice  pleaded  forgiveness 
for  any  word  she  chose  to  utter.  "Even," 
he  said  to  himself,  "if  you  could  forget  her 
face." 

He  could  n't  forget  it.  As  he  sat  there 
trying  to  read,  it  came  between  him  and  his 
book.  It  tormented  him  to  find  its  meaning. 
Kitty's  face  was  a  thing  both  delicate  and 
crude.  When  she  was  gay  it  showed  a 
blurred  edge,  a  fineness  in  peril.  When  she 
was  sad  it  wore  the  fixed  look  of  artificial 
maturity.  It  was  like  a  young  bud  opened 
by  inquisitive  fingers  and  forced  to  be  a 
flower.  Some  day,  the  day  before  it  withered, 
the  bruised  veins  would  glow  again,  and  a 
hectic  spot  betray,  like  a  bruise,  the  violation 


46       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

of  its  bloom.  At  the  moment,  repose  gave 
back  its  beauty  to  Kitty's  face.  Lucy  noticed 
that  the  large  black  pupils  of  her  eyes  were 
ringed  with  a  dark  blue  iris,  spotted  with 
black.  There  was  no  colour  about  her  at 
all  except  that  blue,  and  the  delicate  red  of 
her  mouth.  In  her  black  gown  she  was  a 
revelation  of  pure  form.  Colour  would  have 
obscured  her,  made  her  ineffectual. 

He  sat  silent,  hardly  daring  to  look  at  her. 
So  keen  was  his  sense  of  her  that  he  could 
almost  have  heard  the  beating  of  her  breast 
against  her  gown.  Once  she  sighed,  and 
Lucy  stirred.  Once  she  stirred  slightly, 
and  Lucy,  unconsciously  responsive,  sighed. 
Then  Kitty's  glance  lit  on  him.  He  turned 
a  page  of  his  book  ostentatiously,  and  Kitty's 
glance  slunk  home  again.  She  closed  her 
eyes  and  opened  them  to  find  Lucy's  eyes 
looking  at  her  over  the  top  of  his  book. 
Poor  Lucy  was  so  perturbed  at  being  detected 
in  that  particular  atrocity  that  he  rose,  drew 
his  chair  to  the  hearth,  and  arranged  him- 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       47 

self  in  an  attitude  that  made  these  things 
impossible. 

He  was  presently  aware  of  Jane  launching 
herself  on  a  gentle  tide  of  conversation,  and 
of  Mrs.  Tailleur  trembling  pathetically  on 
the  brink  of  it. 

"Do  you  like  Southbourne .^ "  he  heard 
Jane  saying. 

Then  suddenly  Mrs.  Tailleur  plunged  in. 

"No,"  said  she;  "I  hate  it.  I  hate  any 
place  I  have  to  be  alone  in,  if  it 's  only  for 
five  minutes." 

Lucy  felt  that  it  was  Jane  who  drew  back 
now,  in  sheer  distress.  He  tried  to  think 
of  something  to  say,  and  gave  it  up,  stultified 
by  his  compassion. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  Jane. 

"Robert,"  said  she,  "have  you  written  to 
the  children.?" 

Mrs.  Tailleur's  face  became  suddenly 
sombre  and  intent. 

"No;  I  haven't.     I   clean  forgot  it." 

He  went  off  to  write  his  letter.     When  he 


48       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

came  back  Mrs.  Tailleur  had  risen  and 
was  saying  good  night  to  Jane. 

He  followed  her  to  the  portiere  and  drew 
it  back  for  her  to  pass.  As  she  turned  to 
thank  him  she  glanced  up  at  the  hand  that 
held  the  portiere.  It  trembled  violently. 
Her  eyes,  a  moment  ago  dark  under  her  bent 
forehead,   darted  a  sudden  light  sidelong. 

She  paused,  interrogative,  expectant.  Lucy 
bowed. 

As  Mrs.  Tailleur  passed  out  she  looked 
back  over  her  shoulder,  smiling  again  her 
incomprehensible  smile. 

The  portiere  dropped  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  V 

FIVE  days  passed.  The  Lucys  had  now 
been  a  week  at  Southbourne.  They 
knew  it  well  by  that  time,  for  bad  weather 
kept  them  from  going  very  far  beyond  it. 
Jane  had  found,  too,  that  they  had  to  know 
some  of  the  visitors.  The  Uttle  Cliff  Hotel 
brought  its  guests  together  with  a  geniality 
unknown  to  its  superb  rival,  the  Metropole. 
Under  its  roof,  in  bad  weather,  persons  not 
otherwise  incompatible  became  acquainted 
with  extraordinary  rapidity.  People  had 
begun  already  to  select  each  other.  Even 
Mr.  Soutar,  the  clergyman,  had  emerged 
from  his  lonely  gloom,  and  dined  by  pref- 
erence at  the  same  table  with  the  middle- 
aged  ladies  —  the  table  farthest  from  the  bay 
window.  The  Hankins,  out  of  pure  kind- 
ness, had  taken  pity  on  the  old  lady,  Mrs. 
Jurd.     They    had    made    advances    to    the 

49 


50       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Lucys,  perceiving  an  agreeable  social  affinity, 
and  had  afterward  drawn  back.  For  the 
Lucys  were  using  the  opportunity  of  the 
weather  for  cultivating  Mrs.  Tailleur. 

It  was  not  easy,  they  told  themselves,  to 
get  to  know  her.  She  did  not  talk  much. 
But  as  Jane  pointed  out  to  Robert,  little 
things  came  out,  things  that  proved  that 
she  was  all  right.  Her  father  was  a  country 
parson,  very  strait-laced,  they  gathered;  and 
she  had  little  sisters,  years  younger  than 
herself.  When  she  talked  at  all  it  was  in 
a  pretty,  innocent  way,  like  a  child's,  and  all 
her  little  legends  were,  you  could  see,  trans- 
parently consistent.  They  had,  like  a  child's, 
a  quite  funny  reiterance  and  simplicity.  But, 
like  a  child,  she  was  easily  put  off  by  any 
sort  of  interruption.  When  she  thought  she 
had  let  herself  go  too  far,  she  would  take 
fright  and  avoid  them  for  the  rest  of  the 
day,  and  they  had  to  begin  all  over  again 
with  her  next  time. 

The  thing,  Lucy  said,  would  be  for  Jane 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       51 

to  get  her  some  day  all  alone.  But  Jane 
said,  No;  Mrs.  Tailleur  was  ten  times  more 
afraid  of  her  than  of  him.  Besides,  they 
had  only  another  week,  and  they  did  n't 
want,  did  they,  to  see  too  much  of  Mrs. 
Tailleur  ?  x\t  that  Lucy  got  very  red,  and 
promised  his  sister  to  take  her  out  some- 
where by  themselves  the  next  fine  day. 

That  was  on  Wednesday  evening,  when 
it  was  raining  hard. 

The  weather  lifted  with  the  dawn.  The 
heavy  smell  of  the  wet  earth  was  pierced  by 
the  fine  air  of  heaven  and  the  sea. 

Jane  Lucv  leaned  out  of  her  bedroom 
window  and  looked  eastward  bevond  the 
hotel  garden  to  the  Cliff.  The  sea  was  full 
of  light.  Light  rolled  on  the  low  waves 
and  broke  on  their  tops  like  foam.  It  hung 
quivering  on  the  white  face  of  the  Cliff. 
It  was  like  a  thin  spray  thrown  from  the 
heavins:  lio;ht  of  the  sea. 

At  breakfast  Jane  reminded  Robert  of  his 
promise   to   take   her  for  a  sail   on   the  first 


52       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


fine  day.  They  turned  their  backs  on  the 
hotel  and  went  seaward.  On  their  way  to 
the  boats  they  passed  Mrs.  Tailleur  sitting 
on  the  beach  in  the  sun. 

Neither  of  them  enjoyed  that  expedition. 
It  was  the  first  of  all  the  things  they  had 
done  together  that  had  failed.  Jane  wondered 
why.  If  they  were  not  enjoying  themselves 
on  a  day  like  that,  when,  she  argued,  would 
they  enjoy  themselves  ?  The  day  remained 
as  perfect  as  it  had  begun.  There  was 
nothing  wrong,  Robert  admitted,  with  the 
day.  They  sailed  in  the  sun's  path  and 
landed  in  a  divine  and  solitary  cove.  Robert 
was  obliged  to  agree  that  there  was  nothing 
wrong  with  the  cove,  and  nothing,  no  nothing 
in  the  least  wrong  with  the  lunch.  There 
might,  yes,  of  course  there  might,  be  some- 
thing very  wrong  with   him. 

AMiatever  it  was,  it  disappeared  as  they 
sighted  Southbourne.  Robert,  mounting 
with  uneasy  haste  the  steps  that  led  from  the 
beach  to  the  hotel  garden,  was  unusually  gay. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       53 

They  were  late  for  dinner,  and  the  table 
next  theirs  was  empty.  Outside,  on  the  great 
green  lawn  in  front  of  the  windows,  he  could 
see  Mrs.  Tailleur  walking  up  and  down,  alone. 

He  dined  with  the  abstraction  of  a  man 
pursued  by  the  hour  of  an  appointment.  He  es- 
tablished Jane  in  the  lounge,  with  all  the  mag- 
azines he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  and  went 
out  by  the  veranda  on  to  the  lawn  where  Mrs. 
Tailleur  was  still  walking  up  and  down. 

The  Colonel  and  his  wife  were  in  the 
veranda.  They  made  a  low  sound  of  pity 
as  they  saw  him  go. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  seemed  more  than  ever  alone. 
The  green  space  was  bare  around  her  as  if 
cleared  by  the  sweep  of  her  gown.  She 
moved  quietly,  with  a  long  and  even  un- 
dulation, a  yielding  of  her  whole  body  to 
the  rhythm  of  her  feet.  She  had  reached 
the  far  end  of  the  lawn  as  Lucy  neared  her, 
and  he  looked  for  her  to  turn  and  face  him. 

She  did  not  turn. 

The  lawn  at  this  end  was  bounded  by  a 


54       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

gravel  walk.  The  walk  was  fenced  by  a  low 
stone  wall  built  on  the  edge  of  the  Cliff.  Mrs. 
Tailleur  paused  there  and  seated  herself  side- 
ways on  the  wall.  Her  face  was  turned  from 
Lucy,  and  he  judged  her  unaware  of  his 
approach.  In  his  eyes  she  gained  a  new 
enchantment  from  the  vast  and  simple  spaces 
of  her  background,  a  sea  of  dull  purple,  a 
sky  of  violet,  divinely  clear.  Her  face  had 
the  intense,  unsubstantial  pallor,  the  magic 
and  stillness  of  flowers  that  stand  in  the  blue 
dusk  before  night. 

She  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  man's  foot- 
steps on  the  gravel.  She  smiled  quietly,  as 
if  she  knew  of  his  coming,  and  was  waiting 
for  it  there.  He  greeted  her.  A  few  words 
of  no  moment  passed  between  them,  and 
there  was  a  silence.  He  stood  by  the  low 
wall  with  his  face  set  seaward,  as  if  all  his 
sight  were  fixed  on  the  trail  of  smoke  that 
marked  the  far-off  passage  of  a  steamer. 
Mrs.  Tailleur's  face  was  fixed  on  his.  He 
was  aware  of  it. 


THE  IMMORTAL  INIOIMENT       55 

Standing  beside  her,  he  was  aware,  too,  of 
something  about  her  aUen  to  sea  and  sky; 
something  secret,  impenetrable,  that  held 
her,  as  it  were,  apart,  shut  in  by  her  own 
strange  and  solitary  charm. 

And  she  sat  there  in  the  deep  quiet  of  a 
woman  intent  upon  her  hour.  He  had  no 
ear  for  the  call  of  her  silence,  for  the  voice 
of  the  instincts  prisoned  in  blood  and  brain. 

Presently  she  rose,  shrugging  her  shoulders 
and  gathering  her  furs  about  her. 

"I  want  to  walk,"  she  said;  "will  you 
come :' 

She  led  the  way  to  the  corner  where  the 
low  wall  was  joined  by  a  high  one,  dividing 
the  hotel  garden  from  the  open  down.  There 
was  a  gate  here;  it  led  to  a  flight  of  wooden 
steps  that  went  zig-zag  to  the  beach  below. 
At  the  first  turn  in  the  flight  a  narrow  path 
was  cut  on  the  Cliff  side.  To  the  right  it 
rose  inland,  following  the  slope  of  the  down. 
To  the  left  it  ran  level  under  the  low  wall, 
then  climbed  higher  yet  to  the  brow  of  the 


56       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

headland.  There  it  ended  in  a  square  recess, 
a  small  white  chamber  cut  from  the  chalk 
and  open  to  the  sea  and  sky.  From  the 
floor  of  the  recess  the  Cliff  dropped  sheer  to 
the  beach  two  hundred  feet  below. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  took  the  path  to  the  left. 
Lucy  followed  her. 

The  path  was  stopped  by  the  bend  of  the 
great  Cliff,  the  recess  roofed  by  its  bulging 
forehead.  There  was  a  wooden  seat  set  well 
back  under  this  cover.  Two  persons  who 
found  themselves  alone  there  might  count 
on  security  from  interruption. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  and  Lucy  were  alone. 

Lucy  looked  at  the  Cliff  wall  in  front  of  them. 

*'We  must  go  back,"  said  he. 

"Oh  no,"  said  she;  "don't  let 's  go  back." 

"But  if  you  want  to  walk " 

"I  don't,"  said  she;  "do  you.^" 

He  did  n't,  and  they  seated  themselves. 
In  the  charm  of  this  intimate  seclusion  Lucy 
became  more  than  ever  dumb.  Mrs.  Tailleur 
waited  a  few  minutes  in  apparent  meditation. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       57 

All  Lucy  said  ^Yas  "May  I  smoke?" 

"You  may."     She  meditated  again. 

"I  was  wondering,"  said  she,  "whether 
you  were  ever  going  to  say  anything." 

"I  didn't  know,"  said  Lucy  simply, 
"whether  I  might.  I  thought  you  were 
thinking." 

"So  I  was.  I  was  thinking  of  what  you 
were  going  to  say  next.  I  never  met  any- 
body who  said  less  and  took  so  long  a  time 
to  say  it  in." 

"Well,"  said  Lucy,  "I  was  thinking  too." 

"I  know  you  were.  You  needn't  be  so 
afraid  of  me  unless  you  like." 

"I  am  not,"  said  he  stiffly,  "in  the  least 
afraid  of  you,  I  'm  desperately  afraid  of 
saying  the  wrong  thing." 

"Tome.'^     Or  everybody  .P" 

"Not    everybody." 

"To  me,  then.  Do  you  think  I  might  be 
difficult.?" 

"Difficult.?" 

"To  get  on  with.?" 


58      THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Not  in  the  least.  Possibly,  if  I  may  say 
so,  a  little  difficult  to  know." 

She  smiled.  "I  don't  usually  strike  people 
in  that  light." 

"Well,  I  think  I  'm  afraid  of  boring  you." 

"You  could  n't  if  vou  tried  from  now  to 
midnight." 

"How  do  you  know  what  I  mightn't 
do  .5^" 

"That 's  it.  I  don't  know.  I  never 
should  know.  It 's  only  the  people  I  'm 
sure  of  that  bore  me.      Don't  they  you.?" 

He  laughed  uneasily. 

"The  people,"  she  went  on,  "who  are 
sure  of  me;  who  think  I  'm  so  easy  to  know. 
They  don't  know  me,  and  they  don't  know 
that  I  know  them.  And  they  're  the  only 
people  I've  ever,  ever  met.  I  can  tell  what 
they  're  going  to  say  before  they  've  said  it. 
It 's  always  the  same  thing.  It 's  —  if  you 
like  —  the  inevitable  thing.  If  you  can't 
have  anything  but  the  same  thing,  at  least 
you   like   it  put  a   little   differently.     You  'd 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       59 

think,  among  them  all,  they  might  find  it 
easy  to  put  it  a  little  differently  sometimes; 
but  they  never  do ;  and  it 's  the  brutal  mo- 
notony of  it  that  I  cannot  stand." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Lucy,  "people  are 
monotonous." 

"They  don't  know,"  said  she,  evidently 
ignoring  his  statement  as  inadequate,  "they 
don't  know  how  sick  I  am  of  it  —  how  in- 
sufferably it  bores   me." 

"Ah!  there  you  see  —  that's  what  I'm 
afraid  of." 

"What.?" 

"Of  saying  the  wrong  thing  —  the  —  the 
same  thing." 

"That 's  it.  You  'd  say  it  differently,  and 
it  would  n't  be  the  same  thing  at  all.  And 
what 's  more,  I  should  never  know  whether 
you  were  going  to  say  it  or  not." 

"There  's  one  thing  I  'd  like  to  say  to  you 
if  I  knew  how  —  if  I  knew  how  you  'd  take  it. 

You  see,   though  I  think  I  know  you " 

he  hesitated. 


60       THE  IMMORTAL  IVIOMENT 


"You  don't  really?  You  don't  know 
who  I  am?  Or  where  I  come  from?  Or 
where  I  'm  going  to  ?  I  don't  know  my- 
self." 

"I  know,"  said  Lucy,  "as  much  as  I've 
any  right  to.  But  unluckily  the  thing  I 
want  to   know " 

"Is  what  you  haven't  any  right  to?" 

"I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't.  The  thing  I  want 
to  know  is  simply  whether  I  can  help  you 
in   any   way." 

She  smiled.     "Ah,"   said  she,   "you   have 

said    it." 

"Haven't    I    said    it    differently?" 
"I'm     not     sure.     You     looked     different 
when  you  said  it;  that  's  something." 

"I  know  I've  no  right  to  say  it  at  all. 
What  I  mean  is  that  if  I  could  do  anything 
for  you  without  boring  you,  without  forcing 
myself  on  your  acquaintance,  I  'd  be  most 
awfully  glad.  You  know  you  need  n't 
recognise  me  afterward  unless  you  like. 
Have  I  put  it  differently  now  ?  " 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       61 

"Yes;  I  don't  think  I've  ever  heard  it 
put   quite   that   way  before." 

There  was  a  long  pause  in  which  Lucy 
vainly  sought  for  illumination. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Tailleur,  as  if  to  herself; 
"I  should  never  know  what  you  were  going 
to  say  or  do  next." 

"^youldn'tyou.?" 

"No;  I  didn't  know  just  now  whether 
you  were  going  to  speak  to  me  or  not.  AMien 
I  said  I  wanted  to  walk  I  did  n't  know 
whether  vou  'd  come  with  me  or  not." 

"I  came." 

"You  came;  but  when  I  go " 

"You  're  not  going .^" 

"Yes;  to-morrow,  perhaps,  or  the  next 
day.  When  I  go  I  shall  give  you  my 
address  and  ask  vou  to  come  and  see  me; 
but  I  shan't  know  whether  you  'U  come." 

"Of   course  I'll   come." 

"There's  no  'of  course'  about  you; 
that 's  the  charm  of  it.  I  shan  *t  know  until 
you  're    actually    there." 


62       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"I  shall  be  there  all  right." 

**What?     You'll    come?" 

"Yes;  and  I'll   bring  my  sister." 

"Your   sister.-"     She   drew   back   slightly. 

"Turn    round,    please — this  way  —  and  let 

me  look  at  you." 

He   turned,   laughing.     Her  eyes   searched 

his  face. 

"Yes;     you  meant     that.     AYhy     do     you 

w^ant  to  bring  your  sister.^" 

"Because  I  want  you  to  know  her." 
"Are     you     sure  —  quite  —  quite     sure  — 

you   want   her   to   know   me.-" 

"Quite  —  quite  sure.      If  you  don't  mind 

—  if  she  won't  bore  you." 
"Oh,  she  won't  bore  me." 
"You  're  not  afraid  of  that  monotony.-" 
She  turned  and  looked  long  at  him.     "You 

are  yery  like  your  sister,"  she  said. 
"Am    1.5     How .5     In   what    way .5" 
"In   the   way   we 'ye   been   talking   about. 

I   suppose   you   know   how   remarkable   you 

are.'' 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       63 

"No;  I  really  don't  think  I  do." 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  Tailleur,  "you  are  all 
the  more  remarkable." 

"Don't  you  think,"  she  added, "we  had 
better  go  back .?" 

They  Avent  back.  As  they  mounted  the 
steps  to  the  garden  door  they  saw  Miss 
Keating  approaching  it  from  the  inside. 
She  moved  along  the  low  wall  that  over- 
looked the  path  by  which  they  had  just 
come.  There  was  no  crunching  of  pebbles 
under  her  feet.  She  trod,  inaudibly,  the 
soft  edge  of  the  lawn. 

Lucy  held  the  door  open  for  Miss  Keat- 
ing when  Mrs.  Tailleur  had  passed  through; 
but  Miss  Keating  had  turned  suddenly. 
She  made  the  pebbles  on  the  walk  scream 
with  the  vehemence  of  her  retreat. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Lucy,  "it  must  be  rather 
painful  to  be  as  shy  as  that." 

"Mustn't  it.?"  said  Mrs.  Tailleur, 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  next  day  it  rained,  fitfully  at  first, 
at  the  will  of  a  cold  wind  that  dragged 
clouds  out  of  heaven.  A  gleam  of  sunshine 
in  the  afternoon,  then  wild  rain  driven 
slantwise  by  the  gusts;  and  now,  at  five 
o'clock,  no  wind  at  all,  but  a  straight,  soak- 
ing downpour. 

The  guests  at  the  Cliff  Hotel  were  all 
indoors.  Colonel  Hankin  and  his  wife 
were  reading  in  a  corner  of  the  lounge. 
Mr.  Soutar,  the  clergyman,  was  dozing  over 
a  newspaper  by  an  imaginary  fire.  The 
other  men  drifted  continually  from  the  bar 
to  the  billiard-room  and  back  again. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  and  Lucy  were  sitting  in 
the  veranda,  with  rugs  round  them,  watch- 
ing the  rain,  and  watched  by  Colonel  and 
Mrs.  Hankin. 

Jane  had  gone  into  the  drawing-room  to 

64 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       Q5 

write  letters.  There  was  nobody  there  but 
the  old  lady  who  sat  in  the  bay  of  the  window, 
everlastingly  knitting,  and  Miss  Keating 
isolated  on  a  sofa  near  the  door. 

Everybody  in  the  hotel  was  happy  and 
occupied,  except  Miss  Keating.  Her  eyes 
followed  the  labour  of  Miss  Lucy's  pen, 
watching  for  the  stroke  that  should  end  it. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she  must 
speak  to  her. 

Miss  Keating  was  subject  to  a  passion 
which  circumstances  were  perpetually 
frustrating.  She  desired  to  be  interesting, 
profoundly,  personally  interesting  to  people. 
She  disliked  publicity  partly  because  it 
reduced  her  to  mournful  insio-nificance  and 
silence.  The  few  moments  in  her  life  which 
counted  were  those  private  ones  when  she 
found  attention  surrendered  whollv  to  her 
service.  She  hungered  for  the  unworn, 
unwearied  sympathy  of  strangers.  Her 
fancy  had  followed  and  fastened  on  the 
Lucys,   perceiving     this     exquisitely     \irgin 


66       THE  IMMORTAL  MO:\IENT 


quality  in  them.  And  now  she  was  suffering 
from  an  oppression  of  the  nerves  that  urged 
her  to  a  supreme  outpouring. 

Miss  Lucy  seemed  absorbed  in  her  corre- 
spondence. She  felt  that  Miss  Keating's 
eyes  were  upon  her,  and  as  she  wrote  she 
planned  a  dexterous  retreat.  It  would, 
she  knew,  be  difficult,  owing  to  Miss 
Keating's  complete  occupation  of  the  sofa 
by  the  door. 

She  had  made  that  lady's  acquaintance  in 
the  morning,  having  found  her  sitting  sad 
and  solitary  in  the  lounge.  She  had  then 
felt  that  it  would  be  unkind  not  to  say  some- 
thing to  her,  and  she  had  spent  the  greater 
part  of  the  morning  saying  it.  Miss 
Keating:  had  tracked  the  thin  thread  of 
conversation  carefully,  as  if  in  search  of 
an  unapparent  opportunity.  Jane,  aware  of 
the  watchfulness  of  her  method,  had  taken 
fridit  and  left  her.  She  had  had  an  awful 
feeling  that  Miss  Keating  was  about  to 
bestow     a     confidence     on     her;     somebody 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       67 

else's  confidence,  which  Miss  Keating  had 
broken  badly,  she  suspected. 

Jane  had  finished  her  letters.  She  was 
addressing  the  envelopes.  Now  she  was 
stamping  them.  Now  she  was  crossing  the 
room.  Miss  Keating  lowered  her  eyes  as 
the  moment  came  which  was  to  bring  her 
into  communion  w^ith  the  Lucys. 

Jane  had  made  her  way  very  quietly  to 
the  door,  and  thought  to  pass  through  it  un- 
observed, when  Miss  Keating  seemed  to  leap, 
up  from  her  sofa  as  from  an  ambush. 

"Miss  Lucy,"  she  said,  and  Jane  turned 
at   the   penetrating   sibilants    of   her   name. 

Miss  Keating  thrust  toward  her  a  face  of 
tragic  and  imminent  appeal.  A  nervous 
vibration  passed  through  her  and  communi- 
cated itself  to  Jane. 

"What  is  it.^"  Jane  paused  in  the  door- 
way. 

"May  I  speak  to  you  a  moment.?" 

"Certainly." 

But    Miss    Keating    did    not    speak.     She 


68       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


stood  there,  clasping  and  unclasping  her 
hands.  It  struck  Jane  that  she  was  trying 
to  conceal  an  eagerness  of  ^yhich  she  was 
more  than  half  ashamed. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said  again. 

Miss  Keating  sighed.  "Will  you  sit 
down  ?  Here  —  I  think."  She  glanced 
significantly  at  the  old  lady  who  was 
betraying  unmistakable  interest  in  the  scene. 
There  was  no  place  where  they  could  sit 
bevond  her  range  of  vision.  But  the  sofa 
was  on  the  far  side  of  it,  and  Miss  Keating' s 
back  protested  against  observation. 

She  bent  forward,  her  thin  arms  stretched 
out  to  Jane,  her  hands  locked,  as  if  she  still 
held  tight  the  confidence  she  offered. 

"Miss  Lucy,"  she  said,  "you  were  so  kind 
to  me  this  morning,  so  kind  and  helpful." 
T  did  n't  know  it." 

^No,  you  did  n't  know  it."  Miss  Keating 
looked  down,  and  she  smiled  as  if  at  some 
pleasant  secret  of  her  own.  "I  think  when 
we  are  really  helping  each  other    we    don't 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       69 

know  it.  You  could  n't  realise  what  it 
meant  to  me,  your  just  coming  up  and 
speaking    to    me    that    way." 

"I'm  very  glad,"  said  Jane;  and  thought 
she  meant  it. 

Miss  Keating  smiled  again.  "I  wonder," 
she  said,  "if  I  might  ask  you  to  help  me 
again  f 

"If  I  can." 

"You  look  as  if  you  could.  I'm  in  a 
great  difficulty,  and  I  would  like  you  —  if 
you  w^ould  —  to  give  me  your  advice." 

"That,"  said  Jane,  "is  a  very  dangerous 
thing  to  give." 

"It  wouldn't  be  in  this  case.  If  I  misrht 
only  tell  you.  There  's  no  one  in  the  hotel 
whom  I  can  speak  to." 

"Surely,"  said  Jane,  "there  is  Mrs. 
Tailleur,   your   friend." 

"My  friend.^  Yes,  she  is  my  friend; 
that's  why  I  can't  say  anything  to  her. 
She  is  the  difficulty." 

"Indeed,"   said   Jane   coldly.     Nothing  in 


70       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Miss  Keating  appealed  to  the  spirit  of 
adventurous  sympathy. 

"I  have  received  so  much  kindness  from 
her.     She  is  kind." 

"Evidently,"  said  Jane. 

"That  makes  my  position  so  very  delicate 
—  so   very   disagreeable." 

"I    should    think    it    would." 

Miss  Keating  felt  the  antipathy  in  Miss 
Lucy's  tone.  "You  do  think  it  strange  of 
me  to  come  to  you  when  I  don't  know 
you.^" 

"No,  no;  people  are  always  coming  to 
me.       Perhaps    because     they    don't     know 


me." 


"All,  you  see,  you  make  them  come." 
"Indeed  I  don't.      I  try  to  stop  them." 
"Are    you    trying    to    stop    me.^" 
"Yes;    I    think    I    am." 
"Don't   stop    me,    please." 
"But  surelv  it  would  be  better  to    consult 
your    own    people." 

Miss    Keating    paused.     Miss    Lucy    had 


THE  IM:M0RTAL  moment       71 

suggested  the  obvious  course,  which  she  had 
avoided  for  reasons  which  were  not  obvious 
even  to  herself. 

"My  own  people?"  she  murmured  pen- 
sively.    "They    are    not   here." 

It  was  not  her  fault  if  Miss  Lucy  jumped 
to   the   conclusion   that  they  were   dead. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "if  you  see  my 
difficulty  .=  " 

"I  see  it  plainly  enough.  Mrs.  Tailleur 
has  been  very  kind  to  you,  and  you  want 
to  leave  her.     AMiy.^" 

"I  'm  not  sure  that  I  ought  to  stay." 

"You  must  be  the  best  judge  of  your 
obligations." 

"There  are,"  said  Miss  Keating,  "other 
things;  I  don't  know  that  I  'm  a  good  judge 
of  them.  You  see,  I  was  brought  up  very 
carefully." 

"Were  you.?" 

"Yes.  I  'm  not  sure  that  it 's  wise  to  be 
as  careful  as  all  that  —  to  keep  young  girls 
in    ignorance    of    things    they  —  things    they 


72       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

must,    sooner    or    later "    she    paused 

staring  as  if  at  an  abyss. 

"AMiat    things?"    asked    Jane    bluntly. 

"I  don't  know  what  things.  I  don't 
know  anything.  I  'm  afraid.  I  'm  so  innocent. 
Miss  Lucy,  that  I  'm  like  a  child  in  the  dark. 
I  think  I  want  some  one  to  hold  my  hand 
and  tell  me  there's  nothing  there." 

*' Perhaps     there    isn't." 

*' Yes,  but  it 's  so  dark  that  I  can't  see 
whether  there  is  or  isn't.  I'm  just  like  a 
little  child.  Except  that  it  imagines  things 
and   I   don't." 

"Don't  you.?  Are  you  sure  you  don't 
let  your  imagination  run  away  with  you 
sometimes.'^" 

"Not,"  said  Miss  Keating,  "not  on  this 
subject.  Even  when  I  'm  brought  into 
contact" — her  shoulder-blades  obeyed  the 
suggestion  of  her  brain,  and  shuddered.  "I 
don't  know  whether  it  's  good  or  bad  to  refuse 
to  face  things.  I  can't  help  it.  All  that  side 
of  life  is  so  intensely  disagreeable  to  me." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       73 

"It  's  not  agreeable  to  me,"  said  Jane. 
*'And  what  has  it  got  to  do  with  Mrs. 
Tailleur.?" 

Miss  Keating  smiled  queerly.  "I  don't 
know.     I    wish    I    did." 

"If  you  mean  you  think  she  isn't  nice, 
I  can  tell  you  I  'm  sure  you  're  mistaken." 

"It 's  not  what  /  think.  It 's  what  other 
people  think." 

"What  people .5^" 

"The    people    here." 

Little  Jane  lifted  her  head  superbly. 

"TFe  think  the  people  here  have  behaved 
abominably   to    Mrs.    Tailleur." 

She  lifted  her  voice  too.  She  did  n't  care 
who  heard  her.  She  rose,  making  herself 
look  as  tall  as  possible. 

"And  if  you  're  her  friend,"  said  she,  "you 
ought  to  think  so  too." 

She  walked  out  of  the  room,  still  superbly. 
Miss  Keating  was  left  to  a  painful  meditation 
on  misplaced  confidence. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SHE  had  had  no  intention  of  betraying 
Edtty.  Kitty,  she  imagined,  had 
sufficiently  betrayed  herself.  And  if  she 
had  n't,  as  long  as  Kitty  chose  to  behave  like 
a  dubious  person,  she  could  hardly  be  sur- 
prised if  persons  by  no  means  dubious  refused 
to  be  compromised.  She,  Miss  Keating,  was 
in  no  way  responsible  for  Kitty  Tailleur. 
Neither  was  she  responsible  for  what  other 
people  thought  of  her.  That  was  all,  in 
effect,  that  she  had  intimated  to  Miss  Lucy. 
She  did  not  say  what  she  herself  precisely 
thought,  nor  when  she  had  first  felt  that 
uncomfortable  sensation  of  exposure,  that 
little  shiver  of  cold  and  shame  that  seized 
her  when  in  Kitty  Tailleur's  society.  She  had 
no  means  of  measuring  the  lengths  to  which 
Kitty  had  gone  and  might  yet  go.  She  was 
simply  possessed,  driven  and  lashed  by  her 

74 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       75 

vision  of  Ejtty  as  she  had  seen  her  yesterday; 
Kitty  standing  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
on  the  watch  for  Mr.  Lucy;  Kitty  returning, 
triumphant,  with  the  young  man  at  her  heels. 

She  had  seen  Kitty  with  other  men  before, 
but  there  was  something  in  this  particular 
combination  that  she  could  not  bear  to  think 
of.  All  the  same,  she  had  lain  awake  half 
the  night  thinking  of  it.  She  had  Kitty 
Tailleur  and  Mr.  Lucy  on  her  nerves. 

She  had  desired  a  pretext  for  approaching 
Miss  Lucy,  and  poor  Kitty  was  a  pretext 
made  to  her  hand.  Nothing  could  be  more 
appealing  than  the  spectacle  of  helpless 
innocence  struggling  with  a  problem  as 
terrible  as  Kitty.  Miss  Keating  knew  all 
the  time  that  as  far  as  she  was  concerned 
there  was  no  problem.  If  she  disliked  being 
with  Kitty  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  pack 
up  and  go.  Kitty  had  said  in  the  beginning 
that  if  she  did  n't  like  her  she  must  go. 

That  course  was  obvious  but  unattractive. 
And  the  most  obvious  and  most  unattractive 


76       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


thins  about  it  was  that  it  would  not  have 
brought  her  any  further  with  the  Lucys, 
It  would,  in  fact,  have  removed  her  alto- 
gether  from    their   view. 

But  she  had  done  for  herself  now  with 
the  Lucys.  She  should  have  kept  her  nerves 
to  herself,  rasped,  as  they  were  to  a  treach- 
erous tenuity.  And  as  the  state  of  her 
nerves  was  owing  to  Kitty,  she  held  Kitty 
responsible  for  the  crisis.  She  writhed  as 
she  thoudit  of  it.  She  writhed  as  she 
thought  of  Mr.  Lucy.  She  writhed  as  she 
thought  of  Kitty;  and  writhing,  she  rubbed 
her  own  venom  into  her  hurt. 

Of  course  she  would  have  to  leave  Kitty 
now. 

But,  if  she  did,  the  alternatives  were  grim. 
She  would  have  either  to  go  back  to  her 
own  people,  or  to  look  after  somebody's 
children,  or  an  invalid.  Her  own  people 
were  not  interested  in  Miss  Keating.  Chil- 
dren and  invalids  demanded  imperatively 
that    she    should    be    interested    in    them. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       77 

And   Miss    Keating,   unfortunately,   was   not 
interested    in   anybody    but    herself. 

So  interested  was  she  that  she  had  for- 
gotten the  old  lady  who  sat  knitting  in  the 
window,  who,  distracted  by  Miss  Lucy's 
outburst,  had  let  her  ball  roll  on  to  the  floor. 
It  rolled  away  across  the  room  to  Miss 
Keating's  feet,  and  there  was  a  great  tangle 
in  the  wool.  Miss  Keating  picked  up  the 
ball  and  brought  it  to  the  old  lady,  winding 
and  disentangling  it  as  she  went. 

*' Thank  you;  my  wool  is  a  nuisance  to 
everybody,"  said  the  old  lady.  And  she 
began  to  talk  about  her  knitting.  All  the 
year  round  she  knitted  comforters  for  the 
deep-sea  fishermen,  gray  and  red  and  blue. 
When  she  was  tired  of  one  colour  she  went 
to  another.     It  would  be  red's  turn  next. 

Miss  Keating:  felt  as  if  she  were  being;  drawn 
to  the  old  lady  by  that  thin  thread  of  wool. 
And  the  old  lady  kept  looking  at  her  all  the  time. 

"Your  face  is  familiar  to  me,"  she 
said.     (Oddly    enough,    the    old    lady's    face 


78       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


was    familiar    to    Miss    Keating.)     "I    have 
met  you  somewhere;  I  cannot  think  where." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Miss  Keating,  "if  it 
was    at    Wenden,    my    father's    parish.?" 

The  old  lady's  look  was  sharper.  "Your 
father  is  the  vicar  of  Wenden.?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  so." 

"Do  you  know  him.?"  The  ball  slipped 
from  Miss  Keating's  nervous  fingers  and  the 
wool  was   tangled  worse  than  ever. 

"No,     no;    but    I     could    tell     that    you 

were "  she  hesitated.     "It  was  at  Ilkley 

that  I  met  you.  It 's  coming  back  to  me 
You  were  not  then  with  Mrs.  Tailleur,  I 
think.?     You   were   with    an    invalid    lady.?" 

"Yes;    I    was    until    I    broke    down." 

"May  I  ask  if  you  knew  Mrs.  Tailleur 
before  you  came  to  her.?" 

"No.  I  knew  nothing  of  her.  I  know 
nothing  now." 

"Oh,"  said  the  old  lady.  It  was  as  if  she 
had  said:  that  settles  it. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       79 

The     wool     was     disentangled.     It     was 
winding  them  nearer  and  nearer. 
"Have  you  been  with  her  long?" 
"Not    more    than    three    months." 
There  were   onlv  five   inches   of  wool  be- 
tween    them    now.     "Do    you    mind   telling 
me  where  you  picked  her  up.^" 

Miss  Keating  remembered  with  com- 
punction that  it  was  Kitty  who  had  picked 
her  up.  Picked  her  up,  as  it  were,  in  her 
arms,  and  carried  her  awav  from  the  dread- 
fui  northern  Hydropathic  where  she  had 
dropped,  forlorn  and  exhausted,  in  the  trail 
of    her    opulent    invalid. 

"It  was  at    Matlock,    afterward.     Why.^" 

"Because,    my    dear  —  you    must    forgive 

me,  but  I  could  not  help  hearing  what  that 

young  lady  said.     She  was  so  very  —  so  very 

unrestrained." 

"Very  ill-bred,  I  should  say." 
"Well,     I     should     not     have     said     that. 
You    could  n't    mistake    the  Lucvs    for    any- 
thing    but    gentlepeople.     Evidently    I    was 


80       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


meant  to  hear.     I  've  no  doubt  she  thinks  us 
all  very  unkind. 

"Unkind.?     \Miy?" 

"Because  we  have  — have  not  exactly 
taken  to  Mrs.  Tailleur;  if  you  '11  forgive  my 
saying  so." 

Miss  Keating's  smile  forgave  her.  "People 
do  not  always  take  to  her.  She  is  more  a 
favourite,  I  think,  with  men."  She  gave 
the  ball  into   the  old  lady's  hands. 

The  old  lady  coughed  slightly.  "Thank 
you,  my  dear.  I  dare  say  you  have  thought 
it  strange.  AVe  are  such  a  friendly  little 
community  here;  and  if  Mrs.  Tailleur  had 
been  at  all  possible " 

"I  believe,"  said  Miss  Keating,  "she  is 
very  well  connected.  Lord  Matcham  is  a 
most  intimate  friend  of  hers." 

"That  doesn't  speak  very  well  for  Lord 
Matcham,   I  'm   afraid." 

"I  wish,"  said  Miss  Keating,  "you  would 
be  frank  with  me." 

"I  should  like  to  be,  my  dear." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       81 

"Then,  please  —  if  there's  anything  you 
think  I  should  be  told  —  tell  me." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  be  told  that  we 
all  are  wondering  a  little  at  your  being  seen 
with  Mrs.  Tailleur.  You  are  too  nice,  if  I 
may  say  so,  and  she  is  —  well,  not  the  sort  of 
person  you  should  be  going  about  with." 

Miss  Keating's  mouth  opened  slightly.  ] 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  her.?" 

"I  know  less  than  you  do.  I'm  only  going 
by  what  Colonel  Hankin  says." 

"Colonel  Hankin.?" 

"Mrs.  Hankin,  I  should  say;  of  course 
I  could  n't  speak  about  Mrs.  Tailleur  to 
him." 

"Has  he  ever  met  her.?" 

"Met  her.?  In  society.?  My  dear!  —  he 
has  never  met  her  anywhere." 

"Then  would  he  —  would  he  really  know .?" 

"It  isn't  only  the  Colonel.  All  the  men 
in  the  hotel  say  the  same  thing.  You  can 
see  how  they  stare  at  her." 

"Oh,  those  men!" 


82       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

*'You  may  depend  upon  it,  they  know 
more  than  we  do." 

"  How  can  they  ?  How — how  do  they  tell  ?" 

*'I  suppose  they  see  something." 

Miss  Keating  saw  it,  too.  She  shuddered 
involuntarily.  Her  knees  shook  under  her. 
She  sat  down. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  said 
the  old  lady. 

*'Nor  I,"  said  Miss  Keating  faintly. 

*'They  say  you've  only  got  to  look  at 
her " 

A  dull  flush  spread  over  Miss  Keating's 
face.  She  was  breathing  hard.  Her  mouth 
opened  to  speak;  a  thick  sigh  came  through 
it,  but  no  words. 

*'I've  looked,"  said  the  old  lady,  '*and  I 
can't  see  anything  about  her  different  from 
other  people.  She  dresses  so  quietly;  but 
I  'm  told  they  often  do.  They  're  very  careful 
that  we  should  n't  know  them." 

"They.^  Oh,  you  don't  mean  that  Mrs. 
Tailleur  —  is -" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       83 

"I'm  only  going  by  what  I  'm  told.  Mind 
you,  I  get  it  all  from  Mrs.  Hankin." 

Miss  Keating,  who  had  been  leaning  for- 
ward, sat  suddenly  bolt  upright.  Her  whole 
body  was  shaking  now.  Her  voice  was  low 
but  violent. 

"  Oh  —  oh  —  I  knew  it  —  I  knew.  I  always 
felt  there  was  something  about  her." 

"I'm  sure,  my  dear,  you  did  n't  know." 

"I  didn't.  I  didn't  think  it  was 
that;  I  only  thought  she  wasn't  nice.  I 
thought  she  was  fast,  or  she  'd  been  divorced, 
or  something  —  something  terrible  of  that 
sort." 

She  still  sat  bolt  upright,  gazing  open- 
eyed,  open-mouthed  at  the  terror.  She  was 
filled  with  a  fierce  excitement,  a  sort  of 
exultation.     Then  doubt  came  to  her. 

"But  surely  —  surely  the  hotel  people 
would  know.^" 

"Hotel  people  never  know  anything  that 
is  n't  their  interest  to  know.  If  there  were 
any  complaint,  or  if  any  of  the  guests  were 


84       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


to  leave  on  account  of  her,  Mrs.  Tailleur 
would  have  to  go." 

"And  has  there  been  any  complaint.?" 

"I  believe  Mr.  Soutar  —  the  clergyman  — 
has  spoken  to  the  manager." 

"And  the  manager.?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Mr.  Soutar  is  always 
complaining.  He  complained  about  the  food, 
and  about  his  bedroom.  He  has  the 
cheapest  bedroom  in  the  hotel." 

Miss  Keating  was  thinking  hard.  Her 
idea  was  that  Kitty  Tailleur  should  go,  and 
that  she  should  remain. 

"Don't  you  think  if  Colonel  Hankin  spoke 
to   the  manao^er  — 


5> 


"He  wouldn't.  He's  much  too  kind. 
Besides,  the  manager  can't  do  anything  as 
loner  as  she  behaves  herself.     And  now  that 

the    Lucys    have    taken    her  up .     And 

then,  there's  you.  Your  being  with  her  is 
her  great  protection.  As  she  very  well  knew 
when  she  engaged  you." 


"I  was  engaged  for  that? 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       85 

"There  can  be  very  little  doubt  of  it." 

"Oh!  then  nobody  thinks  that  I  knew 
it?     That  I'm  like  her?" 

"Nobody  could  think  that  of  you." 

"AMiat  am  I  to  do?  I'm  so  helpless,  and 
I  've  no  one  to  advise  me.  And  it 's  not  as  if 
we  really  knew  anything." 

"My  dear,  I  think  you  should  leave  her." 

"Of  course  I  shall  leave  her.  I  can't 
stay  another  day.  But  I  don't  know  how 
I  ought  to  do  it." 

"Would  you  like  to  consult  Colonel 
Hankin?" 

"Oh  no;  I  don't  think  I  could  bear  to 
speak  about  it  to  him." 

"Well  —  and  perhaps  he  would  not  like  to 
be  brought  into  it,  either." 

"Then  what  reason  can  I  give  her?" 

"Of  course  you  cannot  tell  her  what 
you  've   heard." 

Miss  Keating  was  silent. 

"Or  if  you  do,  you  must  please  not  give 
me  as  your  informant." 


86       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

''I  will  not  do  that." 

"Nor  —  please  —  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Han- 
kin.  We  none  of  us  want  to  be  mixed  up  with 
any  unpleasant  business." 

"You  may  trust  me,"  said  Miss  Keating. 
"I  am  very  discreet." 

She  rose.  The  old  lady  held  her  with 
detaining  eyes. 

"What  shall  you  do  when  you  have  left 
her.?" 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  look  for  another 
place." 

"You  are  not  going  home,  then.?" 

Miss  Keating's  half-smile  hinted  at  re- 
nunciation. "I  have  too  many  younger 
sisters." 

"Well,  let  me  see.  I  shall  be  going  back 
to  Surbiton  the  day  after  to-morrow.  How 
would  it  be  if  you  were  to  come  with  me .?" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  —  Mrs. "  The  smile  wav- 
ered, but  it  held  its  place. 

"Mrs.  Jurd.  If  we  suited  each  other 
you  might  stay  with  me,  at  any  rate  for  a 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       87 

week  or  two.  I  've  been  a  long  time  look- 
ing out  for  a  companion." 

Miss  Keating's  smile  was  now  strained 
with  hesitation.  Mrs.  Jurd  was  not  an 
invalid,  and  she  was  interested  in  Miss  Keat- 
ing, These  were  points  in  her  favour.  On 
the  other  hand,  nobody  who  could  do  better 
would  choose  to  live  with  Mrs.  Jurd  and 
wind  wool  and  talk  about  the  deep-sea 
fishermen. 

"I  am  living,"  said  Mrs.  Jurd,  "with  my 
nephew  at  Surbiton.  I  have  to  keep  his 
house  for  him." 

"Then  do  you  think  you  would  really 
need  any  one  .^" 

"Indeed  I  do.  My  nephew  isn't  a  com- 
panion for  me.  He  's  in  the  city  all  day  and 
out  most  evenings,  or  he  brings  his  friends 
in  and  they  get  smoking." 

Miss  Keating's  smile  was  now  released 
from  its  terrible  constraint.  A  slight  tremor, 
born  of  that  deliverance,  passed  over  her 
face,  and  left  it  rosy.     But  having  committed 


88       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

herself  to  the  poHcy  of  hesitation  she  had  a 
certain  dehcacy  in  departing  from  it  now. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  would  care  to 
have  me?" 

"My  dear,  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  don't 
care  to  have  any  one  who  is  not  a  lady;  and 
I  am  quite  sure  that  I  am  talking  to  a  lady. 
It  is  very  seldom  in  these  days  that  one  can 
be  sure." 

Miss  Keating  made  a  little  bow  and  blushed. 

After  a  great  deal  of  conversation  it  was 
settled  that  she  should  exchange  the  Cliff 
Hotel  for  the  Metropole  that  night,  and 
that  she  should  stay  there  until  she  left 
Southbourne  for   Surbiton,   with   Mrs.    Jurd. 

When  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Hankin  looked 
in  to  report  upon  the  weather,  this  scheme 
was  submitted  to  them  as  to  supreme  judges 
in  a  question  of  propriety. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  was  not  mentioned.  Her 
name  stood  for  things  that  decorous  persons 
do  not  mention,  except  under  certain  sanctions 
and    the    plea    of    privilege.     The     Colonel 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       89 

might  mention  them  to  his  wife,  and  his 
wife  might  mention  them  to  Mrs.  Jurd, 
who  might  pass  them  on  with  unimpeachable 
propriety  to  Miss  Keating.  But  these  ladies 
were  unable  to  discuss  Mrs.  Tailleur  in  the 
presence  of  the  Colonel.  Still,  as  none  of 
them  could  do  without  her,  she  was  permitted 
to  appear  in  a  purified  form,  veiled  in  obscure 
references,  or  diminished  to  an  innocent 
abstraction. 

Miss  Keating,  INIrs.  Jurd  said,  was  not  at  all 
satisfied  with  her — er — her  present  situation. 

The  Colonel  lowered  his  eyes  for  one 
iniquitous  instant  while  Mrs.  Tailleur,  dis- 
guised as  Miss  Keating's  present  situation, 
laughed  through  the  veil  and  trailed  before 
him  her  unabashed  enormity. 

He  managed  to  express,  with  becoming 
gravity,  his  approval  of  the  scheme.  He 
only  wondered  whether  it  might  not  be 
better  for  Miss  Keating  to  stay  where  she 
was  until  the  morning,  that  her  step  might 
not  seem  so  precipitate,  so  marked. 


90       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Miss  Keating  replied  that  she  thought  she 
had  been  sufficiently  compromised  already. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  the  Colonel,  "that 
I  should  put  it  that  way." 

He  felt  that  by  putting  it  that  way  Miss 
Keating  had  brought  them  a  little  too  near 
what  he  called  the  verge,  the  verge  they 
were  all  so  dexterously  avoiding.  He  would 
have  been  glad  if  he  could  have  been  kept 
out  of  this  somewhat  perilous  debate,  but, 
since  the  women  had  dragged  him  into  it,  it 
was  his  business  to  see  that  it  was  confined 
within  the  limits  of  comparative  safety. 
Goodness  knew  where  thev  would  be  landed 
if  the  women  lost  their  heads. 

He  looked  gravely  at  Miss  Keating. 

That  look  unnerved  her,  and  she  took  a 
staggering  step  that  brought  her  within 
measurable  distance  of  the  verge. 

The  Colonel  might  put  it  any  way  he 
liked,  she  said.  There  must  not  be  a 
moment's  doubt  as  to  her  attitude. 

Now    it    was    not    her    attitude    that    the 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       91 

Colonel  was  thinking  of,  but  his  own.  It 
had  been  an  attitude  of  dignity,  of  judicial 
benevolence,  of  incorruptible  reserve.  Any 
sort  of  unpleasantness  was  agony  to  a  man 
who  had  the  habit  of  perfection.  It  was 
dawning  on  him  that  unless  he  exercised 
considerable  caution  he  would  find  himself 
mixed  up  in  an  uncommonly  disagreeable 
affair.  He  might  even  be  held  responsible 
for  it,  since  the  dubiousness  of  the  topic 
need  never  have  emerged  if  he  had  not  un- 
veiled it  to  his  wife.  So  that,  when  Miss 
Keating,  in  her  unsteadiness,  declared  that 
there  must  not  be  a  moment's  doubt  as  to 
her  attitude,  the  Colonel  himself  was  seized 
with  a  slight  vertigo.  He  suggested  that 
people  (luckily  he  got  no  nearer  it  than  that) 
—  people  were,  after  all,  entitled  to  the 
benefit  of  any  doubt  there  might  be. 

Then,  when  the  danger  was  sheer  in  front 
of  them,  he  drew  back.  Miss  Keating,  he 
said,  had  nobody  but  herself  to  please.  He 
had  no  more  light  to  throw  on  the  —  er  —  the 


92       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

situation.  Really,  he  said  to  himself,  they 
could  n't  have  hit  on  a  more  serviceable 
word. 

He  considered  that  he  had  now  led  the 
discussion  to  its  close,  on  lines  of  irreproach- 
able symbolism.  Nobody  had  overstepped 
the  verge.  Mrs.  Tailleur  had  not  once  been 
mentioned.  She  might  have  disappeared 
behind  the  shelter  provided  by  the  merciful, 
silent  decencies.  Colonel  Hankin  had  shown 
his  unwillingness  to  pursue  her  into  the  dim 
and  undesirable  regions  whence  she  came. 

Then  suddenly  Miss  Keating  cried  out 
her  name. 

She  had  felt  herself  abandoned,  left  there, 
all  alone  on  the  verge,  and  before  any  of 
them  knew  where  they  were  she  was  over 
it.  Happily,  she  was  unaware  of  the  violence 
with  which  she  went.  She  seemed  to  herself 
to  move,  downward  indeed,  but  with  a  sure 
and  slow  propulsion.  She  believed  herself 
challenged  to  the  demonstration  by  the 
Colonel's     attitude.      The     high     distinction 


THE  IM:M0RTAL  moment       93 

of  it,  that  was  remotely  akin  to  Mr.  Lucy's, 
somehow  obscured  and  degraded  her.  She 
conceived  a  disUke  to  this  well-behaved  and 
honourable  gentleman,  and  to  his  visible 
perfections,  the  clean,  silver  whiteness  and 
the  pinkness  of  him. 

His  case  was  clear  to  her.  He  was  a  man, 
and  he  had  looked  at  Kitty  Tailleur,  and 
his  sympathies,  like  Mr.  Lucy's,  had  suffered 
an  abominable  perversion.  His  judgment, 
like  Mr.  Lucy's,  had  surrendered  to  the 
horrible  charm.  She  said  to  herself  bitterlv, 
that  she  could  not  compete  with  that. 

She  trembled  as  she  faced  the  Colonel. 
"Very  well,  then,"  said  she,  "as  there  is  no 
one  to  help  me  I  must  protect  myself.  I 
shall  not  sleep  another  night  under  the  same 
roof  as  Mrs.  Tailleur." 

The  three  winced  as  if  the  name  had  been 
a  blow  struck  at  them.  The  Colonel's  silver 
eyebrows  rose  bristling,  Mrs.  Hankin  got 
up  and  went  out  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Jurd 
bent  her  head  over  her  knitting.     None  of 


94       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


them  looked  at  Miss  Keating;  not  even  the 
Colonel,  as  he  spoke. 

"If  you  feel  like  that  about  it,"  said  he, 
"there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said/' 

He  rose  and  followed  his  wife. 

Upstairs,  when  their  bedroom  door  had 
closed  on  them,  he  reproved  her  very  seriously 
for  her  indiscretion. 

"You  asked  me,"  said  he,  "what  I  thought 
of  Mrs.  Tailleur,  and  I  told  you;  but  I  never 
said  you  were  to  go  and  hand  it  on.  What 
on  earth  have  you  been  saying  to  those 
women  ?" 

"I  didn't  say  anything  to  Miss  Keating." 

"No,  but  you  must  have  done  to  Mrs. 
\Miat  's-her-name  .^" 

"Not  very  much.  I  don't  like  talking 
about  unpleasant  subjects,  as  you  know." 

"Well,  somebody's  been  talking  about 
them.  I  should  n't  wonder,  after  this,  if 
poor  Mrs.  Tailleur's  room  were  wanted  to- 
morrow." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  they'll  turn  her  out.?" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       95 

She  was  a  kind  woman  and  she  could  not 
bear  to  think  it  would  come  to  that. 

The  Colonel  was  silent.  He  was  sitting 
on  the  bed,  watching  his  wife  as  she  undid 
the  fastenings  of  her  gown.  At  that  moment 
a  certain  brief  and  sudden  sin  of  his  youth 
rose  up  before  him.  It  looked  at  him  pitifully, 
reproachfully,  with  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Tailleur. 

"I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Hankin,  "we  hadn't 
said  anything  at  all." 

"So  do  I,"  said  the  Colonel.  But  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  n't  help  saying  something 
more.  "If  she  goes,"  he  said,  "I  rather 
think  that  young  fellow  will  go,  too." 

"And  the  sister.?" 

"Oh,  the  sister,  I  imagine,  will  remain." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

KITTY  was  dressed.  She  was  calling  out 
to  her  companion,  "Bunny,  hurry  up, 
you  '11  be  late."  No  answer  came  from  the 
adjoining  room.  She  tapped  a  the  door  and 
there  was  no  answer.  She  tried  to  open  the 
door.  It  was  locked  on  the  inside.  *'  Bunny," 
she  cried,  "are  you  there .^"  She  laid  her  ear 
to  the  panel.  There  was  the  sound  of  a  box 
being  dragged  across  the  floor. 

"You  are  there,  are  you  ?  Why  don't 
you  answer.^  I  can't  hear  you.  Why  can't 
you  open  the  door.'^" 

Miss  Keating  unlocked  the  door.  She 
held  it  ajar  and  spoke  through  the  aperture. 

"Be  good  enough,"  she  said,  "to  leave 
me  alone." 

"All  right;  but  you'll  be  awfully  late 
for  dinner." 

"I  am  not  coming  down  to  dinner." 

9a 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       97 

IVIiss  Keating  shut  the  door,  but  she  did 
not  lock  it. 

Kitty  gave  a  cry  of  distress. 

*' Bunny,  what  is  the  matter.^  Let  me  in 
—  do  let  me  in." 

"You  can  come  in  if  you  like." 

Kitty  opened  the  door.  But  instead  of 
going  in,  she  stood  fixed  upon  the  threshold, 
struck  dumb  by  what  she  saw. 

The  room  was  in  disorder.  Clothes  littered 
the  bed.  More  clothes  were  heaped  on 
the  floor  around  an  open  trunk.  Miss 
Keating  was  kneeling  on  the  floor  seizing  on 
things  and  thrusting  them  into  the  trunk. 
Their  strangled,  tortured  forms  witnessed  to 
the  violence  of  her  mood. 

"What  are  vou  doing .^" 

"You  can  see  what  I'm  doing.  I  am 
packing  my   things." 

"Why.?" 

"Because  I  am  going  away." 

"  Have  you  had  bad  news  ?  Is  —  is  any- 
body dead  .^" 


98       THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  wouldn't  ask  any  questions  if  I  were 
you." 

"I  must  ask  some.  You  know,  people 
do7i't  walk  off  like  this  without  giving  any 
reason." 

"I  am  surprised  at  your  asking  for  my 
reason." 

*'  Sur — prised,"  said  Kitty  softly.  "Are  you 
going  because  of  me.^" 

Miss  Keating  did  not  answer. 

"I  see.     So  you  don't  like  me  any  more.^" 

"We  won't  put  it  that  way." 

Kitty  came  and  stood  beside  INIiss  Keating 
and  looked  down  at  her. 

"Bunny,  have  I  been  a  brute  to  you.^" 

"No." 

"Have  I  ever  been  a  brute  to  any  one.^ 
Have  you  ever  known  me  do  an  unkind 
thing,  or  say  an  unkind  word  to  any  one  ? 


>>» 


"N— no." 


Then   why    do    you    listen   when    people 
say  unkind  things  about  me.''" 

Miss   Keating  stooped  very  low   over  the 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT       99 

trunk.  Her  attitude  no  doubt  accounted  for 
the  redness  of  her  face  which  Kitty  noticed. 
"I  think  I  know  what  they've  been  saying. 
Did  you  or  did  you  not  hsten?" 

"Listen?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  mean  behind  doors  and 
things.     But  you  let  them  talk  to  you  ?" 

"You  cannot  stop  people  talking." 

"Can't  you.^"  I'd  have  stopped  them 
pretty  soon  if  they  'd  talked  to  me  about 
you.     What  did  they  say.^" 

"You  've  said  just  now  you  knew." 

"Very  well.     AYho  said  it.^" 

"You  've  no  reason  to  assume  that  anybody 
has  said  anvthins:." 

"Was  it  Mr.  Lucy,  or  his  sister.?" 

Miss  Keating  became  agitated. 

"I    have    never    discussed    you    with    Mr. 

Lucv.     Or   his   sister."     There   was   a   little 

click  in  Miss  Keating's  throat  where  the  lie 

stuck. 

"I    know    you    haven't.     They    wouldn't 

let  you." 


100     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Kitty  smiled.  Miss  Keating  saw  the 
smile.  She  trembled.  Tears  started  to  her 
eyes.  She  rose  and  began  sorting  the  pile  of 
clothing  on  the  bed. 

Something  in  her  action  inspired  Kitty 
with  an  intolerable  passion  of  wonder  and 
of  pity.  She  came  to  her  and  laid  her  hand 
on  her  hair,  lightly  and  with  a  certain  fear. 

Miss  Keating  had  once  purred  under 
Kitty's  caresses.  Now  she  jerked  back 
suddenly  and  beat  off  the  timid  hand. 

"I  wish  you  would  n't  touch  me.'* 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  makes  me  loathe  you." 

Kitty  sat  down  on  the  bed.  She  had 
wrapped  her  hand  in  her  pocket-handkerchief 
as  if  it  had  been  hurt. 

"Poor  Bunny,"  she  said;  "are  you  feel- 
ing as  bad  as  all  that.^  You  must  want 
dreadfully  to  marry  that  long  man.  But 
you  need  n't  loathe  me.  I'm  not  going  to 
make  him  marry  we." 

"Can  you  not  think  of  anything  but  that.^" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     101 

"I  can  tliinh  of  all  sorts  of  things.  At 
present  I  'm  thinking  of  that.  It  does  seem 
such  an  awful  pity  that  you  have  n't  married. 
A  dear  little,  sweet  little,  good  little  thing 
like  you  —  for  you  are  good.  Bunny.  It 's  a 
shame  that  you  should  have  to  live  in  rage 
and  fury,  and  be  very  miserable,  and  —  and 
rather  cruel,  just  because  of  that." 

*'If  every  word  you  said  of  me  w^as  true, 
I  'd  rather  be  myself  than  you,  Mrs.  Tailleur." 

"That,  Miss  Keating,  is  purely  a  matter 
of  taste.  Unhappiness  is  all  that 's  the  matter 
with  you.  You  'd  be  quite  a  kind  woman 
if  it  was  n't  for  that.  You  see,  I  do  under- 
stand you.  Bunny.  So  it  is  n't  very  wise 
of  you  to  leave  me.  Think  what  an  awful 
time  you  '11  have  if  you  go  and  live  with 
somebody  who  does  n't  understand  and 
won't  make  allowances.  And  you  're  not 
strong.  You  never  will  be  as  long  as  you  're 
miserable.  You  '11  go  and  live  with  ill  old 
ladies  and  get  into  that  state  you  were  in  at 
Matlock.     And   there   won't   be   anybody   to 


102     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

look  after  you.  And,  Bunny,  you  '11  never 
marry  —  never;  and  it'll  be  simply  awful. 
You  '11  go  getting  older  and  older  and  nervier 
and  nervier,  till  you  're  so  nervy  that  even  the 
old  ladies  won't  have  you  any  more.  Bad  as 
I  am,  you  'd  better  stop  with  me." 

"Stop  with  you.^  How  can  I  stop  with 
you  ? 

"Well,  you  haven't  told  me  yet  why  you 


can  t. 


"I  can't  tell  you.  I  —  I  've  written  you  a 
letter.     It  's  there  on  the  dressing-table." 

Kitty  went  to  the  dressing-table. 

"I  am  returning  you  my  salary  for  the 
quarter  I  have  been  with  you." 

Kitty  took  up  the  letter. 

"I  'd  rather  you  did  not  read  it  until  after 
I  am  gone." 

"That 's  not  fair.  Bunny." 

"Please  — I  've  written  what  I  had  to  say 
because  I  wished  to  avoid  a  scene." 

"There  won't  be  any  scene.  I'm  not 
going  to  read  your  beastly  letter." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     103 

She  opened  the  envelope  and  removed  the 
notes  and  laid  them  on  the  dressing-table. 
Then  she  tore  up  the  letter  and  the  envelope 
together  and  tossed  them  into  the  grate. 

"And  I  'm  not  going  to  take  those  notes." 

"Nor  am  I." 

"You'll  have  to."  She  found  her  com- 
panion's purse  and  tucked  the  notes  inside 
it.  Miss  Keating  turned  on  her.  "Mrs. 
Tailleur,  you  shall  not  thrust  your  money 
on  me.     I  will  not  take  it." 

"You  little  fool,  you  've  got  to." 

Miss  Keating  closed  her  eyes.  It  was  a 
way  she  had.  "I  can't.  And  you  must 
please  take  back  the  things  you  've  given 
me.  They  are  all  there;  in  that  heap  on 
the  bed." 

Kitty  turned  and  looked  at  them.  They 
were  all  there;  everything  she  had  ever 
given  to  her,  the  dresses,  the  combs,  the 
little  trinkets.  She  took  some  of  these  and 
stared  at  them  as  she  held  them  in  her  hand. 

"Won't  you  keep  anything.?" 


104     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  won't  keep  a  thing.'* 

"Not  even  the  little  chain  I  gave  you? 
Oh,  Bunny,  you  liked  your  little  chain." 

Miss  Keating  took  the  chain  from  her  and 
laid  it  with  the  rest. 

"Please  leave  me  to  pack." 

"Presently.  Bunny — look  at  me — straight. 
Why  are  you  doing  this.'*" 

"I  wish  to  be  spared  the  unpleasantness 
of  speaking." 

"But  you've  got  to  speak.  Out  with  it. 
^Miat  have  I  done.^" 

"You  know  better  than  I  do  what  your 
life  has   been." 

"  My  life  ?     I  should  think  I  did.     Rather." 

Kitty  crossed  the  room  to  the  bell. 

"What  time  does  your  train  go.^" 

"My ?  I — must  leave  this  at  seven- 
thirty." 

Kitty  rang  the  bell.     A  housemaid  appeared. 

"I  want  a  fly  at  seven-thirty.  Please  see 
that  Miss  Keating's  luggage  is  downstairs 
by  then.     Her  room  will  not  be  wanted." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     105 

Miss  Keating's  face  was  livid. 

"You  wish,"  said  she,  "the  hotel  people 
to  think  that  it  is  you  who  have  s:iven  me 
notice  ?" 

"You  poor  thing.  I  only  wanted  the  fly 
to  go  down  to  my  account." 

"You  expect  me  to  believe  that.^" 

"I  don't  expect  anything  of  you  —  now. 
I  suppose  it 's  Colonel  Hankin  who  has 
been  talking  about  my  life  ?  It  was  n't 
INIr.  Lucy,  though  you  'd  like  to  make  me 
think  so." 

"There  's  no  need  for  anybody  to  talk. 
Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  you  are  ? 
You  can't  hide  what 's  in  you.  You  're  — • 
you  're  full  of  it.  And  you  've  no  shame 
about  it.  You  can  stand  there,  knowincr 
that  I  know,  and  ask  me  what  vou  've  done. 
How  do  I  know  what  you  've  done  ?  I 
don't  want  to  know  it.  It  's  bad  enough  to 
know  what  vou  are.  And  to  know  that 
I  've  been  living  with  it  for  three  months. 
You   got   hold   of   me,    an   innocent   woman. 


106     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

and  used  me  as  a  cover  for  your  evil  life. 
That 's  all  you  wanted  me  for." 

"\Miatever  I've  done,  I've  done  nothing 
to  deserve  that." 

*'You  think  not.^  Have  you  any  idea 
what  you  've  done  — to  me.^" 

'*No;  I  have  n't.     What  have  I  done.?" 

"I  'm  going  to  tell  you.  You  've  never 
ceased  casting  it  up  to  me  that  I  'm  not 
married,  that  I  have  n't  your  attractions  —  I 
thank  heaven  I  have  not  —  I  am  not  the 
sort  of  woman  you  take  me  for.  I  never 
have  wanted  to  be  married,  but  if  —  if  ever  I 
had,  I  should  n't  want  it  now.  You  've  spoilt 
all  that  for  me.  I  shall  never  see  a  man 
without  thinking  of  you.  I  shall  hate  every 
man  I  meet  because  of  you." 

"  Well,  hate  them,  hate  them.  It 's  better 
than  loving  them.  Let  me  strap  that  box. 
You  '11  tear  your  poor  heart  out." 

Miss  Keating  wrenched  the  strap  from 
Kitty's  hands. 

*'Ah,  how  you  hate  me!     Hate  the  men. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     107 

dear,  that  can't  do  you  any  harm;  but  don't 
hate  the  other  women.  At  my  worst  I 
never  did  that." 

Miss  Keating  shrugged  her  shoulders,  for 
she  was  putting  on  her  coat.  Kitty  looked 
at  her  and  sighed. 

"Bunny,"  said  she,  "I  want  to  make  it 
quite  clear  to  you  why  you  're  going.  You 
think  it  's  because  you  know  something 
horrible  about  me.  But  it  is  n't.  You  don't 
know  anything  about  me.  You  've  only  been 
listening  to  some  of  the  people  in  the  hotel. 
They  don't  know  anything  about  me  either. 
They  've  never  met  me  in  their  lives  before. 
But  they  've  been  thinking  things  and  saying 
things,  and  you  've  swallowed  it  all  because 
you  wanted  to.  You  're  so  desperately  keen 
on  making  out  there  's  something  bad  about 
me.  Of  course,  you  might  have  made  it 
out;  you  might  have  proved  all  sorts  of 
things  against  me.  But  you  have  n't.  That 's 
my  whole  point.  You  have  n't  proved  a 
thing,  have  you  ?     If  you  were  my  husband. 


108     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

and  wanted  to  get  rid  of  me,  you  'd  have  to 
trump  up  some  evidence,  would  n't  you?" 

"There  is  no  need  to  trump  up  evidence. 
I  'm  acting  on  my  instinct  and  belief." 

"Oh,  I  know  vou  believe  it  all  right." 

"I  can't  help  what  I  believe." 

"No,  you  can't  help  it.  You  can't  help 
what  vou  want.  And  you  would  n't  have 
wanted  it  if  you  had  n't  been  so  furiously 
unhappy.  I  was  furiously  unhappy  myself 
once.     That's  whv  I  understand  vou." 

"It  is  five-and-twenty  minutes  past  seven, 
Mrs.  Tailleur." 

"And  in  five  minutes  you  '11  go.  And 
you  won't  hear  a  word  in  my  defence  ? 
You  won't  ?  Wiv,  if  I  'd  murdered  some- 
body  and  they  were  going  to  hang  me,  they  'd 
let  me  defend  myself  before  they  did  it. 
All  I  was  going  to  say  was  —  supposing 
everything  you  said  was  true,  I  think  you 
might  have  made  allowances  for  me.  You 
can't  ?     1  was  harder  driven  than  you." 

"  No  two  cases  could  well  be  more  different." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     109 

*'Once  they  were  the  same.  Only  it  was 
worse  for  me.  All  your  temptations  are 
bottled  up  inside  you.  Mine  rushed  at  me 
from  inside  and  outside  too.  I  've  had  all 
the  thinfjs  vou  had.  I  had  a  strait-laced 
parson  for  my  father  —  so  had  you.  I  was 
poked  away  in  a  hole  in  the  country  —  so 
were  you.  I  had  little  sisters  —  so  had  you. 
My  mother  sent  me  away  from  home  for 
fear  I  should  harm  them."  Her  voice  shook, 
"I  wouldn't  have  harmed  them  for  the 
world.  I  was  sent  to  live  with  an  old  lady 
—  so  were  you.  I  was  shut  up  with  her  all 
day,  till  I  got  ill  and  could  n't  sleep  at  night. 
I  never  saw  a  soul  but  one  or  two  other  old 
ladies.  They  were  quite  fond  of  me  —  I 
made  them.  I  should  have  died  of  it  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  that.  Then  —  do  listen, 
Bunny  —  something  happened,  and  I  broke 
loose,  and  got  away.  You  never  had  a 
chance  to  get  away,  so  you  don't  know  what 
it  feels  like.  Perhaps,  I  think,  when  it 
came  to  the  point,  you  'd  have  been  afraid, 


110     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


or  something.  I  was  n't.  And  I  was  young. 
I  'm  young  still.  You  can't  judge  me.  Any- 
how, I  know  what  you  've  been  through. 
That 's  what  made  me  sorry  for  you.  Can  't 
you  be  a  little  sorry  for  me  ?'' 

Miss  Keating  said  nothing.  She  was 
putting  on  her  hat,  and  her  mouth  at  the 
moment  was  closed  tight  over  a  long  hat- 
pin. She  drew  it  out  slowly  between  her 
shut  lips.     Meeting  Kitty's  eyes  she  blinked. 

"  You  need  n't  be  sorry,"  said  Kitty.  "  I  've 
had  things  that  you  have  n't." 

Miss  Keating  turned  to  the  looking-glass 
and  put  on  her  veil.  Her  back  was  toward 
Kitty.  The  two  women's  faces  were  in  the 
glass,  the  young  and  the  middle-aged,  each 
searching  for  the  other.  Kitty's  face  was 
tearful  and  piteous;  it  pleaded  with  the 
other  face  in  the  glass,  a  face  furtive  with 
hate,  that  hung  between  two  lifted  arms 
behind  a  veil. 

Miss   Keating's   hands   struggled  with  her 

veil. 


<<XT, 


THE  IMMORTAL  MO^^IEXT     111 

I  may  n't  tie  it  for  you?"  said  Kitty. 
No,  thank  you." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Miss 
Keating  started. 

"It's  the  men  for  your  boxes.  Come  into 
my  room  and  say  good  bye." 

"I  prefer  to  say  good  bye  here,  if  it 's  all 
the  same  to  you.     Good  bye." 

"You  won't  even  shake  hands  with  me  .^ 
Well,  if  you  won't  —  why  should  you.'^" 

"I  am  holding  out  my  hand.  If  you 
won't  take  it " 

"No,  no.     I  don't  want  to  take  it." 

Kitty  was  crying. 

"I  must  let  those  men  in,"  said  Miss 
Keating.  "You  are  not  going  to  make  a 
scene  r 

*'l?  Oh  Lord,  no.  You  needn't  mind 
me.     I  '11   go." 

She  went  into  her  own  room  and  flung 
herself,  face  downward,  on  to  her  pillow, 
and  slid  by  the  bedside,  kneeling,  to  the 
floor. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AT  EIGHT  o'clock  ]\Trs.  Tailleiir  was  not 
-^  ^  to  be  found  in  her  room,  or  in  any  other 
part  of  the  hotel.  By  nine  Lucy  was  out 
on  the  Cliff-side  looking  for  her.  He  was 
not  able  to  account  for  the  instinct  that  told 
him  she  would  be  there. 

The  rain  had  ceased  earlier  in  the  evening. 
Now  it  was  falling  again  in  torrents.  Pie 
could  see  that  the  path  was  pitted  with 
small,  sharp  footprints.  They  turned  and 
returned,  obliterating  each  other. 

At  the  end  of  the  path,  in  the  white 
chamber  under  the  brow  of  the  Cliff,  he 
made  out  first  a  queer,  irregular,  trailing 
black  mass,  then  the  peak  of  a  hood  against 
the  wall,  and  the  long  train  of  a  woman's 
gown  upon  the  floor,  and  then,  between  the 
loops  of  the  hood,  the  edge  of  Mrs.  Tailleur's 
white    face,    dim,    but    discernible.     She    sat 

11^ 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     113 

sideways,    leaninf^    against    the    wall,    in    the 
slack,  childlike  attitude  of  exhausted  misery. 

He  came  close.  She  did  not  stir  at  the 
sound  of  his  feet  trampling  the  slush.  Her 
eyes  were  shut,  her  mouth  open;  she 
breathed,  like  a  child,  the  half-suffocated 
breath  that  comes  after  long  crying.  He 
stood  looking  at  her,  tongue-tied  with  pity. 
Every  now  and  then  her  throat  shook  like  a 
child's  with  guileless  hiccoughing  sobs. 

He  stooped  over  her  and  called  her  name. 

"Mrs.   TaiUeur." 

She  turned  from  him  and  sank  sidelong 
into  the  corner,  hiding  her  face.  The  long 
wings  of  her  cloak  parted  and  hung  back 
from  her  cowering  body.  Her  thin  gar- 
ments, beaten  smooth  by  the  rain,  clung  like 
one  tissue  to  the  long  slope  above  her  knees. 
Lucy  laid  his  hand  gently  on  her  gown. 
She  was  drenched  to  the  skin.  It  struck 
through,  cold  and  shuddering,  to  his  touch. 
She  pushed  his  hand  away  and  sat  up. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "you  'd  better  go  away." 


114     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go?" 

"I  don't  want  you  to  see  me  like  this. 
I  'm  —  I  'm  not  pretty  to  look  at." 

"That  doesn't  matter  in  the  very  least. 
Besides,  I  can  hardly  see  you  in  this 
light." 

He  drew  her  cloak  about  her  and  fastened 
it.  He  could  feel,  from  the  nearness  of  her 
flushed  mouth,  the  heat  and  the  taste  of 
grief.  She  flung  her  head  back  to  the  wall 
away  from  him.  Her  hood  slipped,  and  he 
put  his  arm  behind  her  shoulders  and  raised 
it,  and  drew  it  gently  forward  to  shelter  her 
head  from  the  rough  wall.  His  hand  was 
wet  with  the  rain  from  her  loose  hair. 

"How  long  have  you  been  walking  about 
in  the  rain  before  you  came  here.''" 

She  tried  to  speak,  and  with  the  effort 
her  sobs  broke  out  in  violence.  It  struck 
him  again,  and  with  another  pang  of  pity, 
how  like  a  child  she  was  in  the  complete- 
ness of  her  abandonment!  He  sat  down 
beside  her,  leaning  forward,  his  face  hidden 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     115 

in  his  hands.  He  felt  that  to  hide  his  own 
face  was  somehow  to  screen  her. 

Her  sobbing  went  on,  and  her  hand, 
stretched  toward  him  unawares,  clutched 
at  the  top  of  the  wooden  seat. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  go  away  and 
come  back  again?"  he  said  presently. 

"No!"  she  cried.  And  at  her  own  cry 
a  terrible  convulsion  shook  her.  He  could 
feel  her  whole  body  strain  and  stiffen  with 
the  effort  to  control  it.     Then  she  was  calm. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said.  "I  told 
you,  did  n't  I,  that  you  'd  better  go  away .?" 

"Do  you  suppose  that  I  'm  going  to  leave 
you  here.'^     Just  when  I've  found  you.^" 

" Miss  Keating  's  left  me.     Did  you  know  ?" 

"Yes,  I  heard.  Is  it  —  is  it  a  great  trouble 
to  you.?" 

"Yes."       She  shook  again. 

"Surely,"  he  began,  and  hesitated,  and 
grew  bold.  "Surely  it  needn't  be?  She 
was  n't,  was  she,  such  a  particularly  amiable 
person?" 


116     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"She  couldn't  help  it.  She  was  so 
unhappy." 

His  voice  softened.  "You  were  very  fond 
of  her  ?' ' 

"Yes.     How  did  you  know  she'd  gone.^'* 

It  was  too  dark  in  there  for  him  to  see 
the  fear  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned  them  to 
him. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "we  heard  she'd  left.  I 
suppose  she  had  to  go." 

"Yes,"    said   Mrs.    Tailleur,    "she   had   to 


go." 


<-iWT, 


Well,  I  shouldn't  distress  myself  any 
more  about  it.  Tell  me,  have  you  been 
walking:  about  in  the  rain  ever  since  she  left  ?'* 

"I  — I  think  so." 

"And  my  little  sister  was  looking  for  you 
everywhere.  She^  wanted  you  to  dine  with 
us.  We  thought  you  would,  perhaps,  as 
you  were  free." 

"That  was  very  good  of  you." 

"We  couldn't  find  you  anywhere  in  the 
hotel.     Then  I  came  out  here." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     117 


<< ' 


"What  made  you  come?'* 
"I  came  to  look  for  you." 
'To  look  for  me?" 
'Yes.     You  don't  mind,  do  you?" 
'How  did  you  know  I  should  be  here?" 
T  didn't.     It  was  the  last  place  I  tried. 
Do  you  know  it 's  past  nine  o'clock  ?     You 
must  come  in  now." 
"I  — can't." 

"Oh   yes,"    he    said,    "you    can.     You're 
coming  back  with  me." 

He    talked   as    he    would    to   a   frightened 
child,  to  one  of  his  own  children. 


(< 


I  'm  afraid  to  go  back." 


<c 


"Why?" 
Because  of  Bunny.     She  told  me  people 
were  saying  dreadful  things  about  me.    That 's 
why  she  left.     She  could  n't  bear  it." 

Lucy  ground  his  teeth.  '^  She  could  n't  bear 
it  ?  That  shows  what  she  was,  does  n't  it  ? 
But  you  —  you  don't  mind  what  people  say  ?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  mind." 

"Well " 


118     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Yes!"  she  cried  passionately.  "I  do 
mind.  I  've  always  minded.  It 's  just  the 
one  thing  I  can't  get  over." 

"It's  the  one  thing,"  said  Lucy,  "we 
have  to  learn  to  get  over.  AMien  you  've 
lived  to  be  as  old  as  I  am,  you  '11  see  how 
very  little  it  matters  what  people  say  of  us. 
Especially  when  we  know  what  other  people 
think." 

"Other  people.^" 

"Friends,"  he  said,  "the  people  who 
really   care." 

"Ah,  if  we  only  could  know  what  they 
think.  That  's  the  most  horrible  thing  of 
all— what  they  think." 

"Is  that  why  you  don't  want  to  go  back.^" 

Lucy's  voice  was  unsteady  and  very  low. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

There  was  a  brief  silence. 

"But  if  you  go  back  with  me,''  he  said, 
"it  will  be  all  right,  won't  it  .^" 

The  look  in  her  eves  almost  reached  him 
through  the  darkness,  it  was  so  intense. 


I  THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     119 

"No,"  she  said  out  loud,  "it  won't.  It 
will  be  all  wrong." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you.  Anyhow,  I'm 
going  to  take  you  back.     Come." 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  yet.  Mayn't  we 
stay  here  a  little  longer.?" 

"No,  we  may  n't.  You  've  got  your  death 
of  cold  as  it  is." 

"I  'm  not  cold,  now.  I  'm  warm.  Feel 
my  hands." 

She  held  them  out  to  him.  He  did  not 
touch  them.  But  he  put  his  arm  round  her 
and  raised  her  to  her  feet.  And  they  went 
back  together  along  the  narrow  Cliff-path. 
It  was  dangerous  in  the  perishing  light.  He 
took  her  hands  in  his  now,  and  led  her  side- 
long. When  her  feet  slipped  in  the  slimy 
chalk,  he  held  her  up  with  his  arm. 

At  the  little  gate  she  turned  to  him. 

"I  was  kind  to  Bunny,"  she  said,  "I  was 
really." 

"I  am  sure,"  he  said  gently,  "you  are 
kind  to  everybody." 


120     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

*'That  's  something,  is  n't  it?" 
"I  'm  not  sure  that  it  is  n't  everything." 
They  went  up  the  side  of  the  garden, 
along  the  shrubbery,  by  a  path  that  led  to 
the  main  entrance  of  the  hotel.  A  great 
ring  of  white  light  lay  on  the  wet  ground 
before  the  porch,  thrown  from  the  electric 
lamps  within. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  stepped  back  into  the  dark- 
ness by  the  shrubbery.  "Look  here,"  she 
said,  "I'm  going  in  by  myself.  You  are 
going  round  another  way.  You  have  not 
seen  me.  You  don't  know  where  I  am. 
You  don't  know  anything  about  me." 

"I  know,"  said  Lucy,  "you  are  coming 
in  with  me." 

She  drew  farther  back.  "I  'm  not  think- 
ing of  myself,"  she  said,  "I'm  thinking  of 

you." 

She  was  no  longer  like  a  child.  Her 
voice  had  suddenly  grown  older. 

"Are  you.?"  he  said.  "Then  you'll  do 
what    I    ask   you."     He    held    her   with    his 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     121 

arm  and  drew  her,  resisting  and  unresisting, 
close  to  him. 

"Ah,"  she  cried,  "what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  me  ?" 

"I  am  going,"  he  said,  *'to  take  you  to 
my  sister." 

And  he  went  with  her,  up  the  steps  and 
into  the  hghted  vestibule,  past  the  hall-porter 
and  the  clerk  in  his  bureau  and  the  manager's 
wife  in  hers,  straight  into  the  lounge,  before 
the  Colonel  and  his  wife,  and  he  led  her  to 
Jane  where  she  sat  in  her  place  beside  the 
hearth. 

"It  is  n't  half  such  a  bad  night  as  it  looks," 
said  he  in  a  clear  voice.  "Is  it,  Mrs. 
TaiUeur.?" 


CHAPTER  X 

FIVE  minutes  later  Lucy  was  talking  to 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Hankin,  with 
genial  unconcern.  They  never  knew  that  he 
knew  what  they  had  been  saying,  or  how  their 
tongues  had  scourged  Mrs.  Tailleur  out  into 
the  lash  of  the  rain.  They  never  knew  that 
the  young  man  who  conversed  with  them 
so  amiably  was  longing  to  take  the  Colonel 
by  his  pink  throat  and  throttle  him,  nor  that 
it  was  only  a  higher  chivalry  that  held  him 
from  this  disastrous  deed.  The  Colonel 
merely  felt  himself  in  the  presence  of  an 
incomparable  innocence;  but  whether  it  was 
Lucy  who  was  innocent,  or  Mrs.  Tailleur, 
or  the  two  of  them  together,  he  really  could 
not  say. 

Upstairs,  in  Mrs.  Tailleur's  bedroom, 
Jane  Lucy  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Tailleur. 
They  were  sitting  be  the  hearth  while  Kitty, 

122 


THE  I:MM0RTAL  moment     123 

clothed  in  warm  garments,  shook  out  her 
drenched  hair  before  the  fire.  She  had 
just  told  Jane  how  Miss  Keating  had  left 
her,  and  she  had  become  tearful  again 
over  the  telling. 

"Need  you  mind  so  much?  Is  she 
worth  it?"  said  Jane,  very  much  as  Robert 
had  said. 

"I  don't  mind  her  leaving.  I  can  get 
over  that.  But  you  don't  know  the  awful 
things  she  said." 

"No,  I  don't;  but  I  dare  say  she  didn't 
mean  half  of  them." 

"Didn't   she   though!     I'll   show  you." 

Kitty  got  up  and  opened  the  door  into 
the  other  room.  It  was  as  Miss  Keating 
had  left  it. 

"Look  there,"  she  said,  "what  she  's  done." 

Jane  looked.  "I  'm  not  surprised.  You 
did  everything  for  her,  so  I  suppose  she 
expected  you  to  pack  and  send  her  things 
after  her." 

"It  isn't  that.      Don't  you  see?     It's  — 


124     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

it 's  the  things  I  gave  her.  She  flung  them 
back  in  my  face.  She  would  n't  take  one 
of  them.  See,  that 's  the  white  frock  she 
was  wearing,  and  the  fur-lined  coal  (she  'II 
be  so  cold  without  it),  and  look,  that's  the 
little  chain  I  gave  her  on  her  birthday. 
She  would  n't  even  keep  the  chain." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  she  would  feel  rather 
bad  about  it  after  she 's  behaved  in  this 
way." 

"It  isn't  that.  It's  because  they  were 
mine  —  because  I  wore  them."  Kitty  began 
to  sob. 

"No,    no,    dear    Mrs.    Tailleur " 

"Yes,  yes.  She  —  she  thought  they'd 
c — c — contaminate  her." 

Kitty's  sobs  broke  into  the  shrill  laugh 
of  hysteria.  Jane  led  her  to  the  couch 
and  sat  beside  her.  Kitty  leaned  forward, 
staring  at  the  floor.  Now  and  then  she 
pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth, 
stifling.  Suddenly  she  looked  up  into  Jane's 
face. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     125 

"Would  you  mind  wearing  a  frock  I'd 
worn  .^ 

''Of  course  I  would  n't." 

Kitty's  handkerchief  dropped  on  to  her 
lap,  a  soaked  ball,  an  insufficient  dam. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "the  beast!  —  the  little, 
little  beast!" 

She  looked  again  at  Jane,  but  with  a 
glance  half  cowed,  half  candid,  like  a  child 
that  has  proved,  indubitably,  its  predestined 
naughtiness. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  use  that  word." 

"I  want  to  use  it  myself,"  said  Jane. 
"It's   not   a  bit  too  much." 

"I    didn't    mean    it." 

She  added  softly,  reminiscently.  "She 
was  such  a  little  thing." 

"Much  too  little  for  you  to  care  about." 

"That's  why  I  cared.  I  know  it  was. 
She  was  just  like  a  little,  lonely  child;  and 
she  clung  to  me   at  first." 

"She  certainly  seems  to  have  clung." 

"That's  why  it's  so  awful  to  think  that 


126     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

she  could  n't  bear  it  —  could  n't  bear  to  live 
with  me." 

"We  wondered  how  you  could  bear  to 
live  with  her." 

"Did  you.^" 

"Yes.     ^Miy  did  you  have  her .^ " 

"You  see,  I  had  to  have  some  one;  and 
she  was  nice." 

"I  don't  think  she  was  nice  at  all." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Kitty,  solemnly,  "you 
could  see  thai.'' 

"I  suppose  you  mean  she  was  a  lady."" 

"Ye — es."  Kitty  was  not  by  any  means 
certain  that  that  was  what  she  did  mean. 
It  was  so  difficult  to  find  words  for  what 
she  meant. 

"That,"  said  Jane,  "is  the  least  you 
can  be." 

"Anvhow,  she  was." 

"Well,  if  vou  take  a  charitable  view 
of  her.  Her  people  are  probably  nicer 
than  she  is.  Perhaps  that 's  why  she  does  n't 
live  with  them." 


THE  IM:M0RTAL  M0:^IEXT     127 

"Her  father,"  said  Kitty,  "is  the  vicar 
of  Wendell.     I  suppose   that  's   all   right." 

"Probably;  but  ice  don't  care  what  peoples* 
fathers  are  like,  provided  they  're  nice  them- 
selves." 

"Do  you  think  I  'm  nice.^" 

Jane  laughed.     "Yes,  as  it  happens,  I  do." 

"Ah,  you  —  you " 

"We  both  do,"  said  Jane  boldly. 

"You're  the  first  nice  woman  I've 
known    who    has  n't     been    horrid    to     me. 

And     he "     Kitty     had     been     playing 

with  a  button  of  her  dressing-gown.  Her 
fingers  now  began  tearing,  passionately, 
convulsivelv,  at  the  button.  "He  is  the 
first  nice  man  who  —  who  has  n't  been  what 


men  are." 


"You  don't  mean  that,"  said  Jane  calmly. 
She  was  holding  Mrs.  Tailleur's  hand  in 
hers  and  caressing  it,  soothing  its  pathetic 
violence. 

"I  do.     I  do.     That's  why  I  like  you  so." 

"I  'm  glad  you  like  us." 


128     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  'd  give  anything  to  know  what  you 
really  think  of  me." 

"May  I  say  what  I  think?" 

"Yes." 

**I    think    you  're    too    good    to    be    so 
unhappy." 

"That's  a  new  view  of  me.  Most  people 
think  I'm  too  unhappy  to  be  very  good." 

"You  are  good;  but  if  you  'd  been 
happier  you  'd  have  known  that  other 
people  are  what  you  call  good,  too." 

"That's  what  I  said  to  Bunny.  She  was 
unhappy." 

"Never  mind  her.  If  you  'd  been  happier 
you  'd  have  known,  for  instance,  that  my 
brother  is  n't  an  exception.  There  are  a 
great  many  men  like  him.  All  the  men  I  've 
known  have  been  more  or  less  like  Robert." 

"They  would  be,  dear;  all  the  men  you  've 
known.  But,  you  see,  something  happened. 
Nothing   ever   happened   to   you." 

"No.  Nothing  very  much  has  happened 
to  me.     Nothing  very  much  ever  will." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     129 

"You  never  wanted  things  to  happen, 
did    vou?" 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  I  'm  interested 
most  in  the  things  that  happen  to  other 
people." 

"You  dear!     If  I'd  been  hke  you " 

"I  wish,"  said  Jane,  "you  'd  known  Robert 
sooner." 

Mrs.  Tailleur's  Hps  parted,  but  no  voice 
came  through  them. 

"Then,"  said  Jane,  "whatever  happened 
never    would    have    happened,    probably." 

"I  wonder.  What  do  you  suppose 
happened.^" 

"I  don't  know.  I've  no  business  to 
know." 

"^^llat  do  you  think.?  Tell  me  —  tell 
me!" 

"I  think  you  've  been  very  badly  handled." 

"Yes.     You  may  think  so." 

"When  you  were  young  —  too  young  to 
understand   it." 

**Ah,    I   was    never   too   young   to   under- 


130     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

stand.     That 's    the    difference   between   you 
and  me." 

"That  makes  it  all  the  worse,  then." 

"All  the  worse!  So  that 's  what  you 
think  .^     How  does  it  make  you  feel  to  me.^" 

"It  makes  me  feel  that  I  want  to  take  you 
away,  and  warm  you  and  wrap  you  round, 
so  that  nothing  could  ever  touch  you  and 
hurt  you  any  more." 

"That's   how   it   makes   you   feel.^" 

"That's  how  it  makes  us  both  feel." 

''He  takes  it  that  way,  too.^" 

"  Of  course  he  does.     Any  nice  man  would." 

"If  7  were  nice " 

lou    are    nice. 

"You  don't  know,  my  child;  you  don't 
know." 

"Do  you  suppose  Robert  does  n't  know.^" 

Mrs.  Tailleur  rose  suddenly  and  turned 
away. 

"I  was  nice  once,"  she  said,  "and  at  times 
I  can  be  now." 


CHAPTER  XI 

COLONEL     HANKIN    was      mistaken. 
Mrs.  Tailleur's   room  was  not   wanted 
the  next  day.     The  point  had  been  fiercely 
disputed   in    those    obscure    quarters   of    the 
hotel    inhabited  by  the     management.      The 
manager's  wife  was  for  turning  Mrs.  Tailleur 
out  on  the  bare  suspicion  of  her  impropriety. 
The  idea  in  the  head  of  the  manager's  wife  was 
that  there  should  be  no  suspicion  as  to    the 
reputation  of  the  Cliff  Hotel.     The  manager, 
on  his  side,   contended  that  the   Cliff  Hotel 
must  not  acquire  a  reputation  for  suspicion; 
that  any  lady  whom  Miss  Lucy  had  made 
visibly  her  friend  was  herself  in  the  position 
so  desirable  for  the  Cliff  Hotel;  that,  in  any 
case,  unless  Mrs.  Tailleur's  conduct  became 
such  as  to  justify  an  extreme  step,  the  scandal 
of  the  ejection  would  be  more  damaging  to 
the  Cliff  Hotel  than  her  present  transparently 

131 


132     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

innocent  and  peaceful  occupation  of  the  best 
room  in  it.  He  wished  to  know  how  a 
scandal  was  to  be  avoided  when  the  place 
was  swarming  with  old  women.  And,  after 
all,  what  had  they  got  against  Mrs.  Tailleur 
except  that  she  was  better  looking  by  a  long 
chalk,  and  better  turned-out,  than  any  of 
'em  ?  Of  course,  he  could  n't  undertake  to 
say  —  offhand  — ^^yhether  she  was  or  was  n't 
any  better  than  she  should  be.  But,  in  the 
absence  of  complaints,  he  did  n't  consider  the 
question  a  profitable  one  for  a  manager  to  go 
into  in  the  slack  season. 

All  the  manager's  intelligence  was  con- 
centrated in  the  small  commercial  eye  which 
winked,  absurdly,  in  the  solitude  of  his 
solemn  and  enormous  face.  You  must  take 
people  as  you  found  them,  said  he,  and 
for  his  part  he  had  always  found  Mrs. 
Tailleur 

But  how  the  manager  had  found  Mrs. 
Tailleur  was  never  known  to  his  wife,  for  at 
this    point    she    walked    out    of    the    private 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     133 


sitting-room  and  shut  herself  into  her  bureau. 
Her  opinion,  more  private  even  than  that 
sitting-room,  consecrated  to  intimate  dispute, 
was  that  where  women  were  concerned  the 
manager  was  a  perfect  fool. 

The  window   of  the  bureau  looked  out  on 

to  the  vestibule  and  the  big  staircase.     And 

full   in   sight   of   the   window    Mrs.    Tailleur 

was  sitting  on  a  seat  set  under  the  stair.     She 

had  her  hat  on  and  carried  a  sunshade  in  her 

hand,  for  the  day  was  fine  and  warm.     She 

was    waiting    for    somebody.     And    as    she 

waited  she  amused  herself  by  smiling  at  the 

little   four-year-old   son   of    the   management 

who    played    in    the   vestibule,    it    being    the 

slack  season.     He  was  running  up  and  down 

the  flagged  floor,  dragging  a  little  cart  after 

him.     And  as  he  ran  he  never  took  his  eyes 

off  the  pretty  lady.     They  said,  every  time, 

with     the     charming     vanity     of     childhood, 

"Look  at  me!"     And  Kitty  looked  at  him, 

every  time,  and  made,  every  time,  the  right 

sort   of   smile   that   says   to   a   little   boy,   "I 


134     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

see  you."  Just  then  nobody  was  there  to 
see  Kitty  but  the  manager's  wife,  who  stood 
at  the  window  of  the  bureau  and  saw  it  all. 
And  as  the  little  boy  was  not  looking  in  the 
least  where  he  w^as  going,  his  feet  were 
presently  snared  in  the  rug  where  the  pretty 
lady  sat,  and  he  would  have  tumbled  on  his 
little  nose  if  Kitty  had  not  caught  him. 

He  was  going  to  cry,  but  Kitty  stopped 
him  just  in  time  by  lifting  him  on  to  her  lap 
and  giving  him  her  watch  to  Ioo-k  at.  A 
marvellous  watch  that  was  gold  and  blue  and 
bordered  with  a  ring  of  little  sparkling  stones. 

At  that  moment  Robert  Lucy  came  down 
the  stairs.  He  came  very  quietly  and  leaned 
over  the  banister  behind  Kitty's  back  and 
w^atched  her,  while  he  listened  shamelessly 
to  the  conversation.  The  pretty  lady  looked 
prettier  than  ever. 

"My  daddy  gave  my  mummy  her  watch 
on  her  birthday,"  said  the  little  boy.  "Who 
gave  you  your  watch  .^" 

"It    wasn't    your    daddy,    dear." 


(C 


« 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     135 

"Of  course  it  wasn't  my  daddy." 

"Of  course   not." 
What  is  your  name.^" 
My  name   is   Mrs.   Tailleur." 

"  Mrs.  Ty-loor.  My  name  is  Stanley. 
That  gentleman's  name  is  Mr.  Lucy.  I  like 
him." 

Lucy  came  down  and  seated  himself  beside 
her.  She  made  him  a  sign  with  her  mouth, 
as  much  as  to  say  she  was  under  a  charm  and 
he  was  n't  to  break  it. 

"Do  you  like  him,   Mrs.  Tyloor.?" 

"Well— what    do    you    think.?" 

"I   think   you   like   him   very   much." 

Mrs.  Tailleur  laughed  softly. 

"What    makes    you     laugh  .'^" 
You.     You  're    so    funny." 
You  're  funny.     Your  eyelashes   curl   up 
when   you    laugh,    and   your   eyes    curl,    too. 
And  your  mouth!"  he  crowed  with  the  joy 
of  it.     "Such  a  funny  mouth." 

The  mouth  hid  itself  in  the  child's  soft 
neck   among   his   hair.     The   woman   in   the 


(( ' 


'<  V. 


136     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

bureau  saw  that,  and  her  face  became  curiously 
contracted. 

"I  remember  the  day  you  came.  My  daddy 
said  you  was  very  pretty." 

"And  what  did  your  mummy  say.^" 

Kitty  had  caught  sight  of  the  fierce  face 
in  the  window,  and  a  little  daring  devil  had 
entered  into  her. 

"Mummy  said  she  couldn't  tell  if  she 
was  n't    allowed    to    look." 

"And  why,"  said  Lucy,  "wasn't  she 
allowed  to  look.^" 

"Daddy   said   she   wasn't   to." 

" Of  course  he  did,"  said  Lucy.  "It 's  very 
rude  to  look  at  people." 

"Daddy  looked.     I  saw  him." 

The  door  of  the  bureau  opened  and  the  man- 
ager's wife  came  out.  She  had  a  slight  flush  on 
her  face  and  her  mouth  was  tighter  than  ever. 

Mrs.  Tailleur  saw  her  coming  and  slipped 
the  child  from  her  lap.  The  manager's  wife 
put  out  her  hand  to  take  him,  but  he  turned 
from  her  and  clung  to  the  pretty  lady. 


THE  IMMORTAL  M0:MENT     137 

The  woman  seized  him  by  the  arm  and 
tore  him  from  her,  and  dragged  him  toward 
the  apartments  of  the  management.  The  child 
screamed  as  he  went. 

"Women  hke  that,"  said  Lucy,  "should  n't 
be   allowed   to   have   children." 

Mrs.  Tailleur  turned  to  him  though  she 
had   not  heard  him. 

"AMiat  have  I  done.^  AMiat  harm  could 
I  do  the  little  thing.-" 

"AMiat  have  you  done.^"  It  was  hard  for 
him  to  follow  the  workings  of  her  mind. 
"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  minded  that.^" 

"Yes,    I    minded.     I    minded    awfully." 

"That  dreadful  woman  .^" 

"Do  you  think  she  really  was  dreadful  ?" 

"Quite  terrible." 

"I  don't  know.  I  suppose,"  she  said, 
"they're  all  like  that.  Yet  they  can't  all 
be    dreadful." 

Lucy  laughed.  He  could  n't  see  her 
point.      "I     don't     understand     who     'they' 


are." 


138     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"The  women  who  are  —  the  women  who  've 
got  children." 

She  stooped  down  and  picked  up  something 
from  the  floor.  It  was  the  httle  man  out  of 
the  cart  that  the  child  had  been  playing  with, 
that  lay  there,  smashed,  at  her  feet.  The 
manager's  wife  had  stepped  on  it.  Kitty  set 
the  little  man  upon  the  seat  and  smiled  at 
him  sadly.  And  Lucy  smiled  at  her  out  of 
a  great  and  sudden  tenderness. 

He  thought  he  saw  it  now. 

*'I  think,"  said  he,  "you  must  allow  for  a 
little   maternal   jealousy." 

"Jealousy.^     I   can   understand   jealousy." 

"So  can  I,"  said  Lucy. 

"And   you   think   that   was    jealousy.^" 

"Well,  you  know,  that  little  boy  was 
making   barefaced   love   to   you." 

She  laughed.  "I  suppose,"  she  said,  "you 
would  feel  like  that  about  it." 

She  got  up  and  they  went  out,  past  the 
hotel  front  and  down  the  lawn,  in  sight  of 
the   veranda,   where   at  this   hour  everybody 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     139 

was  there  to  see  them.  Lucy  meant  every- 
body to  see.  He  had  chosen  that  place,  and 
that  hour,  also,  which  wore,  appropriately, 
the  innocence  of  morning.  He  knew  her 
pitiful  belief  that  he  was  defying  public 
opinion  in  being  seen  with  her;  but  from 
her  ultimate  consent,  from  her  continuous 
trust  in  him,  and  from  the  heartrending  way 
she  clung  to  him,  he  gathered  that  she  knew 
him,  she  knew  that  defiance,  from  him,  would 
be  a  vindication  of  her. 

He  did  not  yet  know  how  dear  she  had 
become  to  him.  Only,  as  he  looked  at  her 
moving  close  beside  him,  so  beautiful  and  so 
defenceless,  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  kept 
his  manhood  clean,  so  that  nothing  that  he 
did  for  her  could  hurt  her. 

And  so,  holding  himself  very  upright,  and 
with  his  head  in  the  air,  he  went  slowly 
past  the  veranda  and  the  Hankins,  and, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Tailleur,  gave  them  the  full 
spectacle  of  his  gladness  and  his  pride  in 
her. 


140     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"How  good  you  are  to  me,"  she  said.  "I 
know  why  you  did  that." 

"Do  jou?" 

He  smiled,  guarding  his  secret,  holding  it 
back  a  little  while  longer. 

"AMiere  are  we  going  to.?" 

"An}^vhere  you  choose  to  take  me." 

He  took  her  through  the  gate  that  led  them 
to  the  freedom  of  the  Cliff. 

"Do  you  see  that.^"  He  pointed  to  the 
path  which  was  now  baked  hard  and  white 
by  the  sun. 

"What  is  it.?" 

"Your  little  footprints,  and  my  great 
hoofmarks  beside  them.  I  believe  nobody 
comes  this  way  but  you  and  me." 

"You  see,  it  leads  nowhere,"  said  she. 

"Doesn't  it.?"  said  he. 

The  little  room  in  the  Cliff-side  was  whiter 
than  ever,  burning  white,  it  was,  where  the 
sun  faced  it.  But  the  east  side  of  it  was  in 
shadow,  and  they  sat  there,  under  the  great 
forehead  of  the  Cliff. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     141 

They  were  both  silent.  Lucy  was  think- 
ing of  how  he  had  found  her  there,  and  of 
the  fear  and  trouble  of  last  night.  He 
vowed  that  if  he  could  help  it  there  should 
be  no  more  fear  and  no  more  trouble  for 
her.  In  their  silence,  voices  thin  and  sweet 
with  distance,  came  to  them  from  below, 
where  children  played  on  the  beach  among 
the  rocks  that,  washed  by  water-springs 
from  the  Cliff's  forehead  to  its  foot,  lay  heaped 
where  they  had  fallen.  She  listened  and 
laughed. 

She  was  happy  now.  He  watched  her 
as  she  stretched  her  adorable  feet  to  the 
sun.  A  little  wind  came  from  the  sea  and 
played  with  her,  taking  from  her  a  slight 
scent  of  violets  for  its  salt.  Every  nerve 
in  his  body  was  aware  of  her  nearness. 

Only  last  night  he  had  seen  her  crouching 
just  there,  in  the  darkness,  convulsed,  her  face 
wet  with  rain  and  tears.  It  was  good  that 
the  place  they  had  chosen  should  be  changed 
and  cleansed  for  them  by  sunlight  and  wind 


142     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

from  the    sea  and  the   sweet  voices   of  chil- 
dren. 

She  did  not  break  the  silence.  She  only 
looked  at  him  once  with  eyes  whose  pupils, 
black  and  dilated,  narrowed  the  blue  ring  of 
the  iris. 

Then  he  spoke.  "I  was  going  to  say 
something  to  you  last  night,  but  I  did  n't. 
There  was  something  I  wanted  to  know  first, 
something  I  was  n't  quite  sure  about." 

She  turned  her  face  from  him.  The  light 
struck  it,  and  it  quivered  and  grew  white. 

"Well,  do  you  know  now.^" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  now.'* 

But  her  lips  scarcely  moved  as  she 
answered   him,     "  Of   course   you   know." 

She     faced     him      with     her    sad    white 


courage. 


"Everybody  knows.  I  'd  rather  you  knew. 
I — I    meant   you    to." 

"Oh  please" — he  protested.  "I  wonder 
if  I  may  say  what  it  is  .^" 


"It's    something    about    me.^' 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     143 


"Yes.  It's  something  about  you.  If  I 
may  say  it." 

"You  may  say  anything  you  please. 
You   know   that." 

"Well,  I  wanted  very  much  to  know 
whether  —  whether  you  were  fond  of 
children." 

"Oh "     She  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if 

released  from  torture.  Then  she  laughed 
the  indescribable  half-sobbing  laugh  of  a 
child   tormented   and   suddenly   set  free. 

"WTiether  I  were  fond  of  children.  Do 
you  honestly  mean  it.^  Was  that  what  you 
were  n't  sure  of.?" 

"Well,  of  course,  in  a  way  I  knew  —  but 
I  could  n't  tell,  you  know,  till  I  'd  seen  you 
with  one." 

"W^ell,  and  so  you  can  tell  now.?" 

"Yes.     I  can  tell  now." 

"And  if  I  am  fond  of  children,  what 
difference   does   that  make .?" 

"It  makes  all  the  difference.  You  see, 
I  've  got  two  little  girls " 


144     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"  Two  little  girls."  She  repeated  it  after  him 
smiling,  as  if  she  played  with  the  vision  of  them. 

"You  see  —  they've  no  mother.  My 
wife " 

"I  know,"  she  said  softly. 

"How  did  you  know.?" 

"I  can't  tell  you." 

"My  wife  died  five  years  ago  when  my 
youngest   little   girl   w^as    born." 

"And  I  thought,"  she  said,  "you  were  so 
young." 

"I'm    thirty-five." 

"Still  I  was  right.  You're  young.  Very 
young." 

"Oh,  well,  don't  you  know,  they  say  a 
woman 's  as  young  as  she  looks,  and  a  man 's 
as  young  as  he  feels.     I  jeel  all  right." 

"You  dear."  Her  mouth  and  eyes  said 
it  without  a  sound. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that's  all  you  want 
to  know.?" 

"I   had  to  know  it." 

"It  was  so  important.?" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     145 

"Yes.     Because   of  them.'''' 

"And  now  you  know  all  about  me?" 

"Yes.     NoYv^  I  know  all  about  you." 

"Don't  you  want  to  know  something 
about  —  about  Mr.   Tailleur.^" 

Lucy's  face  hardened.  "No,  1  don't  thmk 
I    want    to    know    anything    about    him." 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  Mr.  Tailleur 
had  been  a  brute  to  her. 

"He  is  dead." 

"Well,  yes.     I  supposed  he  would  be." 

"He  died  four  years  ago.  I  was  married 
very  young." 

"I  supposed  that  too." 

"You    don't    feel    that    he's    important.^" 

"Not  in  the  very  least." 

She  laughed. 

"When  I  said  that  I  knew  all  about  you, 
I  only  meant  that  I  knevr  —  I  'd  the  sense  to 
see  —  what  you  were.  You  must  n't  think 
that  I  take  anything  for  granted." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Lucy,  dear,  I'm  afraid  you're 
taking  everything  for  granted." 


146     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"On  my  soul  I  'm  not.  I  'm  not  that  sort. 
There  's  one  thing  about  you  I  don't  know 
yet,  and  I  'm  afraid  to  ask,  and  it 's  the  only 
thing  I  really  want  to  know.  It 's  the  only 
thing  that  matters." 

"Then  ask  me,  ask  me  straight,  whatever 
it  is,  and  let 's  get  it  over.  Can't  you  trust 
me  to  tell  you  the  truth  .^" 

"I  trust  you — to  tell  me  the  truth.  I 
want  to  know  where  I  am  —  where  we  are." 

"Is  it  for  me  to  say.?" 

"It's  for  you  to  say  whether  you  think 
you  can  ever  care  for  me." 

"Can  't  you  see  that  I  care  for  you.?" 

"No,  I  'd  give  anything  to  see." 

"iVh,  it 's  so  like  you  not  to.  And  I 
thought   I'd   shown   you — everything." 

"You  haven't  shown  me  yet  whether  you 
care   enough    to  —  to " 

He  checked  himself,  while  his  love  for 
her  drew  its  first  breath,  as  if  it  had  been 
born  but  that  instant,  in  an  agony  of  desire 
and  fear. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     147 

*'To  do  what?"  she  said.  "Wliy  won't 
you  tell  me?" 

"I'm   afraid,"   he   said   simply. 

"Afraid    of   me       \Miy    should   you    be?" 

"Because,  if  you  really  cared  for  me,  I 
think   you  'd   know   what   I   want." 

"It  's  because  I  care  so  much  that  I  don't 
know.     Unless  you  tell  me." 

She  put  her  small  fingers  lightly  on  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat;  they  slid  till  they  found 
his  hands  that  hung  clenched  before  him. 

At  her  touch  he  trembled. 

"Don't  you  know,"  she  said,  "that  there's 
nothing  I  would  n't  do  for  you  ?  Tell  me 
what  you  want  me  to  do." 

He  spoke  so  low  that  she  strained  to  hear 
him. 

"To  marry  me  —  to  be  my  wife." 

Her  hand  still  lay  on  his,  but  she  herself 
seemed  to  draw  back  and  pause." 

"Your  wife?"  she  said  at  last.  "My 
dear,   you  've   only  known  me  ten  days." 

"It  makes  no  difference." 


148     THE  IMMORTAL  MO^IENT 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  and  kissed  it, 
bowing  his  head. 

She  twisted  herself  away  from  him,  and 
drew    back    her    face    from  his.     They  rose. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "you  're  cold.  You  don't 
know  how.  Let  me  look  at  you.  It  's 
not  me  you  want.  You  want  a  mother  for 
your    children." 

"Not  I.     I  want  you  — you — for  myself." 

She  moved  toward  him  with  a  low  cry, 
and  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  stood  still 
by  her  without  a  word.  And  to  his  joy, 
she  whom  he  held  (gently,  lest  he  should 
hurt  her)  laid  her  face  to  his  face,  and  held 
him  with  a  grip  tighter  than  his  own,  as  if 
she  feared  that  he  would  loose  himself  and 
leave  her.  Her  eyes  closed  as  he  kissed  her 
forehead,  and  opened  as  her  mouth  found 
his. 

Then  she  drew  herself  slowly  from  him. 

"You  love  me  then.^"  she  said. 

"Yes,   Kitty,   I  love  you.'* 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  awkward  thing  was  telling  Jane 
about  it.  Jane  had  been  his  dead 
wife's  friend  before  he  married  her,  and  she 
had  known  her  better  then  than  she  knew 
Kitty.  Yet  he  remembered,  acutely,  how 
he  had  gone  to  her  eight  years  ago,  and  told 
her  that  he  was  going  to  marry  Amy,  and 
how  she  had  kissed  him  and  said  nothing, 
and  how,  when  he  asked  her  if  she  had  any 
objection,  she  had  said  "No,  none.  But 
is  n't  it  a  little  sudden.^" 

He  wondered  how  Jane  would  look  when  he 
told  her  he  was  going  to  marry  Kitty.  That 
was  bound  to  strike  her  as  verv  sudden  indeed. 

It  was  wonderful  to  him  that  this  thing 
should  have  happened  to  him.  He  was 
aware  that  it  was  a  new  thing.  Nothing  in 
his  previous  experience  had  prepared  him 
for  it.     He  had  been  very  young  eight  years 

149 


150     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

ago,  and  a  gayer,  lighter-hearted  chivalry 
had  gone  to  his  courtship  of  poor  Amy, 
Poor  Amy,  though  he  would  not  own  it, 
had  been  a  rather  ineffectual  woman,  with  a 
prodigious  opinion  of  her  small  self  and  a 
fretting  passion  for  dominion.  She  had 
had  a  crowd  of  friends  and  relations  whom 
she  had  allowed  to  come  between  them. 
Poor  Amy  had  never  understood  him. 
There  were  heights  and  depths  in  him  to 
which  she  had  made  no  appeal. 

But  Kitty  —  she  had  brought  something 
out  of  him  that  had  been  hidden  and  un- 
known to  him  before.  Something  that 
answered  to  the  fear  with  which  she  had 
drawn  back  from  him  and  to  the  tremendous 
and  tragic  passion  with  which  she  had  given 
herself  to  him  at  the  last.  Poor  little  Amy 
had  never  held  him  so.  She  had  never 
loved  him  like  that  in  all  her  poor  little  life. 
And  so  his  very  tenderness  for  Kitty  had  ter- 
ror in  it,  lest  he  should  fail  her,  lest  he  should 
in  any  way  justify  her  prescience  of  disaster. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     151 

Somebody  was  coming  along  the  Cliff- 
path,  somebody  with  a  telegram  for  ]Mrs. 
Tailleiir.  She  rose,  moving  away  from 
Lucy  as  she  opened  it. 

"There  is  no  answer,"  she  said.  And 
she  came  to  him  again  and  sat  beside  him, 
very  still,  with  hands  spread  over  the  telegram 
that  lay  open  in  her  lap. 

"Has  anything  happened.^" 

She  shook  her  head.  He  took  the  hand 
that  she  held  out  to  him  by  way  of 
reassurance  and  possession. 

"Then  why  do  you  look  like  that?" 

She   smiled. 

"Kittv  —  that  was  an  unconvincino;  smile." 

"Was  it  .^  I'm  sorry  to  say  there's  a 
tiresome  man  coming  to  see  me." 

"  Say  you  can't  see  him.     Send  him  a  wire." 

"I  must.  He  's  coming  on  business.  I 
don't  want  to  see  him." 

"Can't  I  see  him  for  you,  if  you  feel  like 
that.^" 

"No,  dear.     He  must  see  me." 


152     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"^\^len  is  he  due?" 

"At   seven-thirty." 

"Oh  —  only  in  the  evening.  How  long 
do  you  think  he  '11  stay.^" 

Kitty  hardened  her  face.  "Not  a  minute 
longer  than  I  can  help." 

"  An  hour  .^     Two  hours  .^" 

"I  shall  have  to  give  him  dinner.  He's 
—  he's  that  sort  of  man." 

"Two  hours,  probably.  I  think  I'll  take 
Janev  for  a  stroll  while  he  's  here.  You  see, 
I  've  got  to  tell  her,  and  I  shall  tell  her  then." 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 
"And  what   will   —  Janey  —  say  ?" 

"She'll  say  she's  glad  I'm  going  to  be 
happy." 

He  became  thoughtful.  "And  there  are 
the  children,"  he  said.  "I  've  got  to  tell 
them,  too." 

She  was  silent.  She  did  not  ask  him  as 
he  had  half  expected,   "AMiat  will  they  say.^" 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "I'd  better  send  for 
them  and  let  them  stay  here  a  bit.     Could 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     153 

you  stand  another  week  of  Southbourne? 
You  said  you  hated  it." 

"Yes.  I  hated  it.  I  shouldn't  have 
stayed  if  it  had  n't  been  for  you." 

"Do  you  mind  staying  a  httle  longer  now  .?" 

"I  don't  mind  staying  anywhere  where 
you  are." 

"Well  —  just  a  httle  longer." 

She  saw  the  workings  of  his  mind.  The 
people  here  had  been  saying  awful  things 
about  her.  If  he  took  her  away  they  would 
continue  to  say  them.  He  could  n't  stop 
them.  He  could  n't  for  instance,  go  up  to 
Colonel  Hankin  before  leaving,  and  tell  him 
that  he  lied,  and  that  Mrs.  Tailleur,  though 
appearances  might  be  against  her,  was  as 
innocent  a  lady  as  Mrs.  Hankin.  He 
could  n't  even  announce  his  engagement  to 
her  by  way  of  accounting  for  their  simul- 
taneous departure.  They  were  not  account- 
able to  these  people.  But,  if  they  stayed 
on  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  he  could 
demonstrate  to  everybody's  satisfaction  that 


154     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

he  had  no  other  intention  with  regard  to 
Mrs.  Tailleur  than  to  make  her  his  wife  and 
a  mother  to  his  children.  That  was  why 
he  was  sending  for  them.  Evidently  the 
idea  he  had  —  poor  lamb  —  was  that  he 
could  shelter  her  innocence  with  theirs. 

And  so  she  told  him  that  she  adored 
Southbourne  now  and  did  n't  care  how  long 
they  stopped  there. 

Lucy's  idea  had  really  gone  more  or  less 
on  those  lines,  though  they  remained  rather 
more  obscure  to  him  than  they  were  to  Kitty. 

His  scheme  was  so  far  successful  that 
there  were  people  in  the  Cliff  Hotel  who 
knew  about  his  engagement  before  Jane  did. 

It  was  clear  to  the  management,  at  any 
rate,  that  some  consecrating  seal  had  been 
set  to  the  very  interesting  relations  of  Mrs. 
Tailleur  and  Mr.  Lucy.  The  manager  was 
more  inclined  than  ever  to  take  a  favourable 
view  of  Mrs.  Tailleur.  To  begin  with, 
Mrs.  Tailleur  had  ordered  a  private  sitting- 
room.     Then    Mr.    Lucy    presented    himself 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     155 

at  the  bureau  with  Mrs.  Tailleur  and 
inquired  whether  he  could  have  a  room  for 
his  two  little  girls  and  their  nurse.  The 
manager's  wife  looked  dubious.  The  best 
rooms,  she  said,  were  taken.  And  Mrs. 
Tailleur  said,  looking;  at  Mr.  Lucv,  "How 
about  poor  Bunny's  room  ?  The  one  leading 
out  of  mine  ?" 

A  fine  flush  appeared  on  Mr.  Lucy's  face 
as  he  said  he  would  have  that  room. 

He  then  announced  that  he  would  wire 
for  the  little  girls  to  come  at  once,  and  that 
thev  would  arrive  at  four  o'clock  to-morrow. 
It  was  further  arranged  that  they  were  to 
have  their  meals  in  Mrs.  Tailleur's  private 
sitting-room.  And  please,  there  was  to  be 
lots  of  jam  for  tea,  Mrs.  Tailleur  said.  The 
manager's  wife  looked  humble  before  her 
lord  as  she  booked  that  order. 

That  was  at  twelve  o'clock  of  the  tenth  day. 

Seven  hours  later  Mrs.  Tailleur  was  alone  in 
her  private  sitting-room,  preparing  with  some 
agitation  for  the  appointment  that  she  had. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HER  tense,  flushed  mind  recorded  auto- 
matically, and  with  acute  vividness, 
every  detail  of  the  room;  the  pattern  of  the 
gray  French  wall-paper,  with  the  watered 
stripe,  and  of  the  hot,  velvet  upholstery,  buff 
on  a  crimson  ground;  the  architecture  of  the 
stained  walnut  sideboard  and  overmantel, 
with  their  ridiculous  pediments  and  little 
shelves  and  bevelled  mirrors;  the  tapestry 
curtains,  the  palms  in  shining  turquoise 
blue  pots,  and  the  engraved  picture  of  Grace 
Darling  over  the  sideboard. 

It  was  absolutely  necessary  that  she  should 
have  this  place  to  see  him  in,  without  Robert 
seeing  him.  Beyond  that  immediate  purpose 
she  discerned  its  use  as  a  play-room  for 
Robert's   children. 

To-morrow,  at  four  o  clock,  she  would 
be  waiting  there  for  them.     They  had  settled 

156 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     157 

that,  she  and  Robert.  She  was  to  have 
everything  ready,  and  the  table  laid  for  tea, 
To-morrow  they  would  all  be  sitting  there, 
round  the  table.  To-morrow  she  would  see 
Robert's  children,  and  hold  them  in  her 
arms. 

Her  heart  gave  a  sudden  leap,  as  if  some- 
thing had  quickened  in  it.  Her  brain 
glowed.  Her  pulses  throbbed  with  the  race 
of  the  glad  blood  in  her  veins.  Her  whole 
being  moved,  trembling  and  yearning, 
toward  an  incredible  joy.  Till  that  moment 
she  had  hardly  realised  Robert's  children. 
A  strange  unquietness,  not  yet  recognised  as 
fear,  had  kept  her  from  asking  him  many 
questions  about  them.  Even  now,  their 
forms  were  like  the  forms  of  children  seen 
in  the  twilight  of  dreams,  the  dreams  of 
women  who  have  never  had  children;  forms 
that  hover  and  torture  and  pursue;  that 
hide  their  faces,  half  seen;  that  will  not 
come  to  the  call,  nor  be  held  by  the  hand, 
nor  gathered  to  the  heart. 


158     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


That  she  should  really  see  them,  and  hear 
their  voices,  and  hold  them  in  her  arms, 
to-morrow,  seemed  to  her  a  thing  impos- 
sible, beyond  credibility  or  dream.  Then 
she  said  to  herself  that  it  all  depended  on 
what  happened  between  to-morrow  and  to- 
day. 

It  was  not  long  past  seven  and  she  had 
still  a  good  twenty  minutes  before  her.  She 
spent  it  in  pacing  up  and  down  the  room, 
and  looking  at  the  clock  every  time  she 
turned  and  confronted  it.  At  the  half-hour 
she  arrangd  herself  on  the  sofa,  with  a  book, 
in  an  attitude  of  carelessness  as  to  the  event. 
As  a  material  appearance  the  attitude  was 
perfect. 

She  rose  as  the  servant  announced  "Mr. 
Wilfrid  Marston."  She  stood  as  she  had 
risen,  waiting  for  her  visitor  to  advance. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  book  which  she 
laid  down,  deliberately  marking  the  page, 
and  yet  she  was  aware  of  his  little  pause 
at  the  door  as  it  closed  behind  him,  and  of 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     159 

his   little   smile   that   took   her  in.     She  had 
no  need  to  look  at  him. 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  size,  who  held 
himself  so  well  that  he  appeared  taller  and 
slenderer  than  he  was.  You  saw  that  he 
had  been  fair  and  florid  and  slender  enough 
in  his  youth,  and  that  all  his  good  points 
had  worn  somewhat  to  hardness.  His  face 
was  hard  and  of  a  fast-hardening,  reddish- 
sallow  colour,  showing  a  light  network  of 
veins  about  the  cheekbones.  Hard,  wiry 
wrinkles  were  about  the  outer  corners  of  his 
eyes.  He  kept  his  small  reddish-gold  mous- 
tache close  clipped,  so  that  it  made  his 
mouth  look  extraordinarily  straight  and  hard. 
People  who  did  n't  know  him  were  apt  to 
mistake  him  for  a  soldier.  (He  was  in  the 
War  Office,  rather  high  up.)  He  had  several 
manners,  his  official  manner  to  persons  calling 
at  the  War  Office ;  his  social  manner,  inimitably 
devout  to  women  whom  he  respected;  and 
his  natural  manner,  known  only  in  its  per- 
fection to  women  whom  he  did  not  respect. 


160     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

And  under  both  of  these  he  conveyed  a  curious 
and  disagreeable  impression  of  stern  sen- 
suahty,  as  if  the  animal  in  him  had  worn  to 
hardness,   too. 

"Kitty,  my  dear  girl!"  His  voice,  unlike 
the  rest  of  him,  could  be  thick  and  soft  and 
fluid.  He  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  she 
offered  him  her  mouth,  curled  forward, 
obedient  but  unsmiling.  Her  hand,  sur- 
rendered to  his,  lay  limp  in  the  hard  clasp 
of  it.  He  raised  it  as  if  weighing  the  power- 
less, subservient  thing. 

"Kitty,"  he  said,  "you  're  still  getting  thin. 
My  last  orders  were,  if  you  remember,  that 
you  were  to  put  on  another  stone  before  I 
saw  you  again." 

He  bared  her  wrist,  pressing  it  slightly, 
to  show  how  its  round  curves  were  sunken. 

"  Do  you  call  that  putting  on  another  stone .^" 

She  drew  back  her  arm. 

""WTiat  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  .^ " 
he  said. 

"Nothing.     There    hasn't    been    anything 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     IGl 

to  do.       It 's    not    very  amusing    being    left 

all    by   yourself    for   weeks    and   weeks,  you 

know." 

"All  by  yourself?" 

"Yes.     Bunny   doesn't   count." 

"No,  she  certainly  doesn't.     Poor  Kitten, 

you  must  have  been  very  badly  bored." 
He  looked  round  the  room. 
"Do  they  do  you  well  at  this  place  .'^" 
"It  is  n't  very  comfortable.     I  think  you  'd 

be  better  off  at  the   Metropole." 

"WTiat  possessed  you  to  stay  at  the   place 

if  you're  not  comfortable.^" 

"Well,   you   see,   I   didn't  expect  you  for 

another    week." 

"^\^lat  's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"I   mean   it   did   well   enough   for   Bunny 

and  me." 

"Wliere  is  that  woman.?" 

"She's  gone.     She  left  yesterday." 

"^^^ly.?" 

"Well,    you    know,  Wilfrid,     Bunny    was 
very  respectable." 


162     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


He  laughed.  "It's  just  as  well  she  went, 
then,  before  I  came,  is  n't  it  ?  I  say,  what 
have  you  done  to  your  eyes?  They  used 
to  be  black,  now  they  're  blue.  Bright 
blue." 

There  was  a  look  in  them  he  did  not 
understand. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "you  would  be  much 
more    comfortable    at    the    Metropole." 

"Oh  no;  I  '11  try  this  place  for  one  night." 
She  veiled  her  eyes. 

"We  can  move  on  if  I  can't  stand  it. 
When  are  we  going  to  dine.^" 

"At  eight.  It's  twenty  to,  now.  You'd 
like  it  up  here,  wouldn't  you.^" 

"Rather.     I   say,    where 's   my   room.?" 

She  flushed  and  turned  from  him  with  an 
unaccountable  emotion. 

"I  — I   don't   know." 

"Did  n't  you  order  one  for  me .?" 

"No;  I  don't  think  I  did." 

"I  suppose  I  can  get  one,  can't  I?'* 

"I    suppose     so.     But     don't     you     think 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     163 

you  *d  better  go  over  to  the  Metropole  ? 
You  see,  this  is  a  very  small  hotel." 

He  looked  at  her  sharply. 

'*I  don't  care  how  small  it  is." 

He  summoned  a  waiter  and  inquired 
irascibly  for  his  room. 

Kitty  was  relieved  when  the  room  was 
got  for  him,  because  he  went  to  it  instantly, 
and  that  gave  her  time.  She  said  to  herself 
that  it  would  be  all  right  if  she  could  be  alone 
for  a  minute  or  two  and  could  think.  She 
thought  continuouslv  throuojh  the  act  of 
dressing,  and  in  the  moment  of  waiting  till 
he  appeared  again.  He  would  be  hungry, 
and  his  first  thought  would  be  for  his  dinner. 

It  was.  But  his  second  thought  was  for 
Kitty,  who  refused  to  eat. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you.^" 

"Nothing.     I've   got   a   headache." 

Again  he  looked  sharply  at  her. 

"A  headache,  have  you.^  It'll  be  better 
if  you  eat  something." 

But  Kittv  shook  her  head. 


164     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"What's  the  good  of  my  sending  you  to 
Matlock  and  those  places  if  you  come  back 
in  this  state?  You  know,  if  you  once  get 
really  thin,  Kitty,  you  're  done  for." 

"Am  I?"  Her  mouth  trembled,  not 
grossly,  but  with  a  small,  fine  quiver  of  the 
upper  lip.  The  man  had  trained  her  well. 
She  knew  better  than  to  cry  before  him. 

The  slender  sign  of  emotion  touched  him, 
since  it  was  not  disfiguring. 

"How  long  have  you  been  starving  your- 
self.?" he  asked  more  gently. 

"I  've  not  been  starving  myself.  I  've  got 
a  headache." 

He  poured  out  some  wine  for  her. 

"You  must  either  eat  or  drink." 

"I   don't   want   any." 

"Nonsense." 

"I  — I  can't.     I  feel  sick." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Need  you  mention  it.?" 

"I  wouldn't  if  you  hadn't  teased  me  so." 

"I   beg  your  pardon." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     165 


She  began  playing  with  some  salted  almonds. 

"My  dear  girl,  I  would  n't  eat  those  things 
if  I  were  you." 

"I'm  not  eating  them."  She  pushed  the 
dish  from  her.  "I'm  afraid,"  said  she,  "it 
is  n't  a  very  nice  dinner." 

He  was  looking  at  the  entree  with  interest 
and  a  slight  suspicion. 

"^Yhat  is  this.?" 

"Curried   chicken." 

"Oh."  He  helped  himself  fastidiously  to 
curried  chicken,  tasted  it  with  delicate  dehb- 
eration,  and  left  it  on  his  plate. 

"You  are  wise,"  said  he.  "There  is  a 
certain   crude,    unsatisfying   simplicity   about 

this  repast." 

"Did  n't  I  tell  you.?" 

"You   did." 

"You  see  now  why  I  said  you  'd  better  go 
to  the  Metropole.?" 

"I  do  indeed." 

An  admirable  joint  of  mutton,  cheese, 
coffee  and  a  liqueur  effaced  the  painful  impres- 


166     TP]E  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

sion  made  by  the  entree.  By  nine  o'clock 
INIarston  declared  himself  inured  to  the  hard- 
ships of  the  Cliff  Hotel. 

"How  long  can  you  stay?"  she  asked. 
The  question  had  been  burning  in  her  for 
two    hours. 

"Well,  over  the  w^eek  end,  I  think." 

Her  heart,  that  had  fluttered  like  a  bird, 
sank,  as  a  bird  sinks  in  terror  with  wings 
tight  shut. 

"Have  you  got  to  go  up  to  town  to- 
morrow .^" 

"I  have,  worse  luck.  How  do  the  trains 
go  from  this  godforsaken  place.?" 

"About  every  two  hours.  What  sort  of 
train  do  you  want.?     An  early  one.?" 

"Rather.  Got  to  be  at  Whitehall  by 
twelve." 

**Will  the  nine-fifteen  do.?" 

"Yes;    that's    all   right." 

The  wings  of  her  heart  loosened.  It  rose 
hght,  as  if  air,  not  blood,  flowed  from  its 
chambers. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     167 

The  Lucys  were  never  by  any  chance  down 
before   nine.     Robert   would   not   ffieet   him. 

He  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite  her, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  as  she  leaned  back 
in  the  corner  of  the  sofa.  He  settled  him- 
self in  comfort,  crossing  his  legs  and  thrusting 
out  one  foot,  defined  under  a  delicate  silk 
sock,  in  an  attitude  that  was  almost  con- 
temptuous of  Kitty's   presence. 

Kitty's  face  was  innocent  of  any  percep- 
tion of  these  shades.  He  drew  the  long 
breath  of  ease  and  smiled  at  her  again,  a 
smile  that  intimated  how  thoroughly  he 
approved  of  her  personal  appearance. 

"Ye  —  es,"  he    said,     "you're     different, 

but  I  think  you  're  almost  as  pretty  as   you 

were." 

"Am    I.?"    she     saia.      "Wliat     did     you 

expect.^" 

"I  didn't  expect  anything.  I  never  do. 
It  's  my  scheme  for  avoiding  disappointment. 
Is  your  head  better  ?  " 

"No;  it's  aching  abominably." 


168     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

*' Sorry.  But  it's  rather  hard  Hnes  for 
me,  is  n't  is  ?.  I  wish  you  could  have  chosen 
some  other  time  to  be  ill  in." 

*'\\liat  does  it  matter  whether  I'm  ill  or 
not,  if  I  'm  not  pretty?" 

He  smiled  again. 

*'I  don't  mean,  child,  that  you  're  ever 
not  pretty." 

"Thank  you.  I  know  exactly  how  pretty 
I  am." 

"Do  you  .^  How  pretty  do  you  think 
you  are  now.^" 

"Not  half  as  pretty  as  Dora  Nicholson. 
You  know  exactly  how  pretty  she  is." 

"I  do.  And  I  know  exactly  how  pretty 
she  '11  be  in  five  years'  time.  That 's  the 
worst  of  those  thin  women  with  little,  delicate, 
pink  faces.  You  know  the  precise  minute 
when  a  girl  like  Dora  '11  go  off.  You  know 
the  pinkness  will  begin  to  run  when  she  's 
once  past  thirty.  You  can  see  the  crows' 
feet  coming,  and  you  know  exactly  how  far 
they  '11   have   got  by   the    time    she's    thirty- 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     169 


five.  You  know  that  when  she  's  forty  there  '11 
be  two  little  lines  like  thumb-nail  marks 
beside  her  ears,  just  here,  and  you  know 
that  when  she  's  forty-five  the  dear  little 
lobes  will  begin  to  shrivel  up,  and  that  when 
she 's  fifty  the  corners  of  her  mouth  will 
collapse." 

"And  then.?" 

"Then,  if  you  're  a  wise  man  you  don't 
know  any  more." 

"Poor  httle  Dora.  You  are  a  brute, 
Wilfrid." 

"I  'm  not  a  brute.  I  was  going  to  say 
that  the  best  of  you,  dear,  is  that  I  don't 
know  how  you  '11  look  at  fifty.  I  don't 
know  how  you  '11  look  to-morrow  —  to-night. 
You  're  never  the  same  for  ten  minutes 
together.  When  you  get  one  of  those 
abominable  headaches  you  look  j^erhaps  as 
old  as  you  are.  You  're  twenty-seven,  are  n't 
you.? 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  you  '11  look  twenty-seven 


170     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

when  you  are  fifty.  There  's  something 
awfully  nice  about  that  sort  of  prettiness.  It 
leaves  things  delightfully  vague.  I  can't  see 
you  fifty." 

"Perhaps  I  never  shall  be." 

"Perhaps  not.  That 's  just  it.  You  leave 
it  open  to  me  to  think  so.  I  don't  seriously 
contemplate  your  ever  being  forty.  In  fact 
your  being  thirty  is  one  of  those  melancholy 
and  disastrous  events  that  need  not  actually 
occur.     It's  very  tactful  of  you,  Kitty." 

"All  the  same,  I  'm  not  as  pretty  as  Dora 
Nicholson." 

"Dora  Nicholson!" 

"You  can't  say  she  is  n't  awfully  pretty." 

"I  don't  say  it."  His  voice  rose  to  an 
excited  falsetto.  "She  is  awfully  pretty  — 
extravagantly,  preposterously  pretty.  And 
she  '11  have  to  pay  for  it." 

"  Oh  —  we  all  have  to  pay  for  it." 

"Sooner  or  later." 

"Poor  Dora " 

"Poor  Dora.     Perhaps  we  have  been  rather 


THE  IMMORTAL  MO:\IENT     171 

brutal     to     her.     She  's     good  for     another 

five  years." 

*'Only  five  years.''     And  what  will  she  do 

then.?" 

*'Oh,  she'll  be  all  right.      She'll  rouge  a 

bit,  and  powder  a  bit,  and  dress  like  anything. 

You  need  n't  be  unhappy  about  Dora.     I  can 

tell   you    Dora   is  n't   going   to    be    unhappy 

about  you.     Unhappiness  would  be  extremely 

unbecoming   to   her,   and   she   knows   it.     It 

is  n't  particularly  becoming   to  any  woman. 

You  would  be  less  damaged  by  it  than  most 

perhaps." 

"You  've  never  seen  me  unhappy." 

*'I  hope  to   God  I  never  shall." 

"You    needn't    be    afraid,    Wilfrid,    you 

never    will." 

"I  wish,"  she  said  presently,  "I  wish  you 

hked    Dora    Nicholson." 
"I  do  like  her." 

"I  wish  you  liked  her  as  much  as  me." 
"That's   very   noble   of  you,    Kitty.     But 

may  I  ask,  why?" 


172     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

**  Because  it  would  make  things  simpler." 

"Simpler?  I  should  have  said  myself  that 
that  was  just  where  complications  might 
occur.  Supposing  I  liked  Dolly  better  than 
you,   what   then?" 

"Oh,    that   would   make   it   simpler   still." 

"It  certainly  would  be  simpler  than  the 
other  situation  you  suggest," 

"It  would  for  both  of  us." 

"But  why  this  sudden  yearning  for 
simplicity?     And   why  Dora   Nicholson?" 

"There  isn't  any  why.  Anybody  else 
would  do,  provided  you  liked  them  better 
than  me.  It 's  only  a  question  of  time,  you 
know.  You  're  bound  to  tire  of  me  sooner 
or  later." 

"Later,  Kitty,  later.  Barring  jealousy.  If 
you  're  going  in  for  that,  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  at  once  that  I  shall  tire  of  it  very 
soon." 

"You  think  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with 
me?" 

"Well,  something's   the  matter  with  you. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     173 

I  suppose  it  's  that.     I  should  drop  it,  Kitty. 
It  reallv  is  n't  worth  while.     It  only  makes 
you  thin,  and  —  and  I  can't  be  bored  with  it, 
you  see  .■' 

*'I  don't  want  —  to  be  bored  —  with  it 
—  either."  vShe  spoke  very  slowly.  "If  you 
wanted  to  leave  me  for  Dora  Nicholson, 
I  should  be  a  fool  to  try  and  keep  you, 
should  n't  I ."" 

"Well  — you're  not  a  fool." 
"You're  not   a   fool   either,   Wilfrid." 
"If  I  am  I  take  some  pains  to  conceal  it." 
"If    a    woman    wanted    to    leave    you    for 
another     man,     would     you     try     and     keep 
her.^" 

He  looked  at  her  attentively.  "It  depends 
on  the  woman,  and  on  some  other  things 
besides.  For  instance,  if  I  were  married 
to  her,  I  might  make  a  considerable  effort, 
not  to  keep  ho-,  but  —  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances." 

"And  if  —  vou  were  not  married  to  her.^" 
"There    again    it    would    depend    on    the 


174     THE  IMMORTAL  M0:MENT 

woman.  I  might  take  it  that  she  'd  left  me 
already." 

"Yes,  but  if  you  knew  she  wasn't  that 
sort  —  if  you  knew  she  'd  always  been  straight 
with  you.'^" 

"Well,  then  perhaps  I  might  take  the 
trouble*  to  find  out  whether  there  really  was 
another  man.  Or  I  might  have  reason  to 
suppose  she  was  only  trying  it  on.  In  which 
case  I  should  say  to  her  '  My  dear  Kitty, 
you  're  a  very  clever  woman  and  it  's  a  bril- 
liant idea  you  've  got.  But  it 's  been  tried 
before  and  it  won't  work.  You  can't  draw  me 
that  way.'" 

"But,   Wilfrid  —  if     there     was     another 


man  ?" 


"Well,  it's  possible  that  I  might  not  con- 
sider it  worth  while  to  dispute  his  claim. 
That     would     depend     altogether     on     the 


woman." 


"If  you  cared  for  her.^" 
"If  I   cared   enough   for   her   I   might  be 
able   to   convince  her   that  it  would   at   any 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     175 


rate  be  prudent,  from  a  worldly  point  of 
view,  to  stick  to  me.  But  that  would  depend, 
would  n't  it,  on  the  amount  of  the  other 
fellow's  income?'* 

"And  if  all  that  did  n't  matter  in  the  very 
least  to  her,  if  she  did  n't  care  a  rap  about 
anybody's  income,  if  she  cared  for  the  other 
fellow  more  than  she  'd  ever  cared  for  you, 
if  she  did  n't  care  for  your  caring,  if  she 
cared  for  nothing  except  his  caring,  and 
nothing  you  could  do  could  move  her  — 
what  would  you  do  then?" 

He  paused  to  light  another  cigarette 
before  he  answered  her.  "I  should  probably 
tell  her,  first  of  all,  that  for  all  I  cared  she 
miffht  2:0  to  the  devil,  I  mean  to  the  other 
fellow,  and  stay  there  as  long  as  he  wanted 
her." 

"  Well"  —  she  said  placably. 

"That's  what  I  should  say  first.  After- 
ward, when  we  were  both  a  little  calmer  — 
if  I  cared  for  her,  Kitty  —  I  should  ask  her 
to  think  a  moment  before  she  did  anything 


176     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

rash,  to  be  quite  sure  that  she  would  really 
he  happier  with  the  other  fellow.  And  I 
should  point  out  to  her  very  clearly  that,  in 
any  case,  if  she  once  went,  it  would  not  be 
open   to  her  to  come  back." 

"But  you   wouldn't   try   and   keep   her.^" 

"I  couldn't  keep  her,  my  dear  child,  by 
trying." 

"Xo — you  couldn't  keep  her.  Not  for 
yourself.  But,  if  you  could  keep  her  from 
the  other  man,  would  you.^" 

"I  dare  say  I  should  do  my  best." 

"Would  you  do  your  worst  .^  No, 
Wilfrid,  you  've  been  very  good  to  me  —  I 
don't  believe  you  'd  do  your  worst." 

"What  do  you  mean,"  he  said  sharply. 

"You  wouldn't  tell  him  what  she  was, 
what  she  had  been  —  if  he  did  n't  know  it. 
Would  vou.^" 

He  was  silent. 

"  Would  you  ?"  she  cried. 

"No,  Kitty,  I  wouldn't  do  that.  I'm  not 
a  cad." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     177 

He  pondered. 

*'But  my  dear  girl,  do  you  suppose  for  a 
moment  that  he  does  n't  know?" 

"He  does  n't  know  a  thing." 

"Then  what  in  heaven's  name  are  you 
talking  about  .^" 

"I  'm  trying  to  tell  you.  It  is  n't  what  you 
think.     I  —  I  'm  going  to  be  married." 

Marston  took  his  cigarette  out  of  his 
mouth,  and  stared  at  it.  There  was  no 
expression  in  his  face  beyond  that  concen- 
trated, attentive  stare. 

"Good  Lord,  ^^^ly,"  he  said,  "couldn't 
you  tell  me  that  before  I  came  down.?" 

"I  was  going  to.  I  was  going  to  write 
to  you  and  ask  you  not  to  come." 

''Good  God." 

He  said  it  softly,  and  with  calm  incredulity 
rather  than  amazement. 

"Who  is  it,  Kitty.?     Do  I  know  him.?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  know  him  yourself.?" 

She  smiled.     "Yes  I  know  him." 


178     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

** Well  — but  how  long?" 

"Ten  days." 

"You  met  him  here?     In  this  hotel?" 

"Yes." 

"That  's  why  you  were  so  anxious  for  me 
to  go  to  the  Metropole,  was  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Look  here.  I  don't  want  to  be  unkind, 
but  it  does  n't  do  to  blink  facts.  Are  you 
quite  sure  he  means  to  marry  you?" 

"^Miy  shouldn't  he?" 

"Well,  these  marriages  do  happen,  but  — 
I  don't  want  to  be  unkind  again  —  but  you 
know  they  are,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  a  little 
unusual." 

"Yes." 

"You  've  seen  some  of  them?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  know,  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do,  the  sort  of  man  who  —  who " 

"AMio  marries  the  sort  of  woman  I  am? 
Yes,  I  know  him,  perfectly  well.  He 's 
horrible." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     179 


"There  are  exceptions,  but  he  's  generally 
pretty  bad.  You  think  he  's  horrible.  You  '11 
be  miserable  when  you  find  yourself  tied  to 
him  for  life.  You  see,  however  awful  he 
was,  you  would  n't  be  exactly  in  a  position 
to  get  rid  of  him." 

"Wilfrid,"  her  voice  was  very  low  and 
tender,  "he  isn't  like  that.     He  's  good " 

"Good,  is  he.?"     He  laughed. 

"Oh,  don't  laugh.     He  is  good." 

"Well,  I  don't  say  he  is  n't  —  only " 

he   smiled. 

"You  forget,"  she  said.  "He  doesn't 
know." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  he  does  n't  know.?" 

"  Quite  —  quite  sure." 

"And  you  are  not  going  to  enlighten 
him.?" 

She  drew  back  before  his  penetrating  gaze. 
"I  can't.      I  could  n't  bear  him  to  know." 

"How  do  you  propose  to  prevent  his 
knowing  ?  Do  you  think  you  're  clever 
enough  to  keep  him  in  the  dark  for  ever?" 


180     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


""\Miv  not?  He  hasn't  seen  thing's  in 
the  broad  daylight,  under  his  very  nose. 
There  were  plenty  of  things  to  see." 

"You  mean  he  's  stupid?" 

"I  mean  I  haven't  been  clever,  if  that  's 
what  you  think.     Once  I  did  nearly  tell  him." 

"Supposing  somebody  else   tells   him?" 

"If  they  do  it'll  only  be  their  word 
against  mine.  And  he  'd  take  my  word 
against  anybody's." 

"Poor  devil!" 

He  seemed  to  meditate,  dispassionately, 
on  the  poor  devil's  case,  and  hers. 

"You  little  fool.  It  isn't  a  question  of 
people's  words.  How  are  you  going  to  get 
rid  of  the  facts  ?" 

"He  needn't  know  them." 

"You  foro-et.  I'm  one  of  them.  How 
are  you  going  to  get  rid  of  me  ?" 

"Oh,  Wilfrid  —  you're  not  going  to  tell 
him?     You  said  you  wouldn't." 

"Of  course  I  said  I  wouldn't  —  I  'd  even 
be  glad  to  get  rid  of  myself  to  oblige  you, 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     181 

Kitty,  but  I  can't.  Here  I  am.  How  are 
you  going  to  account  for  me?" 

"I've  thought  of  that.  He  needn't  see 
you.  It  '11  be  all  right,  Wilfrid,  if  you  '11  go 
away." 

*'  No  doubt.     But  I  have  n't  gone  away." 

He  emphasised  his  point  by  rising  and 
taking  up  a  commanding  position  on  the 
hearthrug. 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door,  and  she 
started  violently. 

It  was  only  a  servant,  bringing  a  note  for 
her. 

She  read  it  and  handed  it  to  Marston, 
looking  piteously  at  him  as  he  stood  his 
ground. 

"Mr.  Lucy  can  come  up,"  she  said.  "We 
have  finished  all  we  had  to  say." 

"I  think  there  are  one  or  two  points,"  he 
replied,  "still  unsettled." 

She  turned  to  the  servant. 

"Will  you  tell  Mr.  Lucy  I  'm  engaged  for 
the  present.     I  will  see  him  later." 


182     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

*'No,  my  dear  Mrs.  Tailleur,  not  on 
my  account.  There  's  no  reason  why  you 
should  n't  see  Mr.  Lucy  now.  No  reason  at 
all." 

She  stood  tortured  with  indecision. 

*'Mrs.  Tailleur  will  see  Mr.  Lucy  now." 

*'I  will  see  him  in  ten  minutes.'* 

"Very  good,  ma'am." 

The  servant  withdrew. 

Marston  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"There  you  are.  Here  we  both  are. 
Here  we  are  all  three  in  the  same  hotel. 
An  uncomfortably  small  hotel.  How  are 
you  —  or  rather,  how  is  he  —  going  to  get 
over  that.'^" 

"It  would  be  all  right  if  you  'd  only  go. 
I  've  told  him  you  w^ere  a  man  coming  on 
business." 

"My  dear  Kitty,  that  was  quite  unworthy 
of  you." 

"Well,  what  could  I  do?  It 's  not  as  if  I 
was  in  the  habit  of  telling  lies." 

"I    won't    criticise    it    if    it   was    a    first 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     183 

attempt.  But  in  telling  a  lie,  my  child,  it 's 
as  well  to  select  one  that  bears  some  resem- 
blance to  the  truth.  Do  I  look  like  a  man 
who  comes  on  business.^" 

"You  will  go  before  he  comes,  won't 
you.?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  will." 

"You  have  nothing,"  she  said,  "to  gain 
by  staying." 

"I  suppose  you  think  you  have  everything 
to  gain  by  my  going  .^" 

"Oh,  Wilfrid,  give  me  my  chance." 

"I'm  giving  you  your  chance,  you  little 
fool.  I  would  n't  produce  that  pocket-hand- 
kerchief if  I  were  you.  It  's  quite  the  most 
damaging  thing  about  you." 

She  gave  a  hysterical  laugh,  and  put  the 
pocket-handkerchief  away. 

"You  are  utterly  unfit,"  he  commented, 
"to  manage  your  own  affairs." 

They  sat  silent,  while  the  clock  ticked 
out  the  last  minutes  of  her  torture. 

"You'd  better  make  up  your  mind  what 


184     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

you  're  going  to  do  when  he  arrives,"  he  said 
finally. 

*'I  don't  know,"  said  Kitty,  "what  I'm 
going  to  do." 

"I'll  tell  you,  then.  You  are  going  to 
introduce  me  as  you  would  any  ordinary 
man  of  your  acquaintance." 

"By  your  own  name.^" 

"By  my  own  name,  of  course." 

They  waited.  Lucy's  stride  was  heard 
along  the  corridor.  She  looked  up  at  her 
tormentor. 

"Is  my  nose  red,  AYilfrid?" 

"No,"  he  said,  smiling  grimly,  "my  dear 
IVIrs.  Tailleur,"  he  added  as  Lucy  entered. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SHE  came  to  meet  him,  keeping  her  back 
to  Marston,  her  face  thrust  a  little  for- 
ward in  the  way  it  had,  looking  for  the  protec- 
tion of  Robert's  kind  eyes.  Only  when  she 
had  his  hand  in  hers  she  turned. 

**May  I  introduce  Mr.  Wilfrid  Marston.?" 

The  two  men  bowed,  glancing  at  each 
other  with  eyes  urbanely  innocent  of 
curiosity. 

**I'm  sorry  to  have  had  to  keep  you 
waiting,"  said  Kitty. 

"So  am  I,"  said  Marston.  "Our  business 
took  rather  longer  than  we  thought." 

"Business  generally  does,"  said  Lucy. 

"It  need  not  have  taken  quite  so  long  if 
I  could  have  persuaded  Mrs.  Tailleur  to 
think  a  little  of  her  own  advantage." 

"I  have,"  said  Kitty,  "an  admirable 
adviser  in  Mr.  Marston." 

185 


186     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

**You  are  always  kind.  Even  if  you  don't 
always  act  on  my  advice." 

"Sometimes  you  think  you  know  your 
own  affairs  best." 

"And  sometimes,"  said  Lucy,  "it's  just 
possible  you  do." 

"  Sometimes.  I  've  been  telling  Mrs. 
Tailleur  that  she's  incapable  of  managing 
her  own  affairs  when  it 's  a  question  of  her 
own  advantage.  If  you  know  anything  of 
Mrs.  Tailleur,  you  will  agree  with  me  there." 

*'I  certainly  agree  with  you,  if  Mrs. 
Tailleur  will  forgive  my  saying  so.  I  hope 
I  've  not  come  too  soon." 

"Oh,  no.  Mr.  Marston  has  missed  the 
last  train  up." 

"And  Mrs.  Tailleur  has  been  kind  enough 
to  ask  me  to  stop  the  night." 

"If  you  don't  prefer  the  Metropole.    Mr. 

Lucy   is   not  going.     Don't  —  it 's   all  right, 

Robert." 

"Are  you  sure  ?" 

"Quite  sure.     Our  business  is  finished." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     187 

"All  except  one  or  two  details  which  we 
may  perhaps  arrange  later,"  said  Marston, 
who  preserved  a  perfect  suavity. 

"How  much  later?"  said  Kitty.  "I  'w  not 
going  to  arrange  anything  more  to-night." 

"To-morrow  night." 

"There  won't  be  any  to-morrow  night — ■ 
if  you  're  going  up  to  town." 

"Well,  then,  perhaps  if  Mr.  Lucy  will 
excuse  us,  you  will  give  me  a  moment  now. 
It  seems  a  pity  not  to  put  things  straight 
while  you  're  about  it." 

"You  can't  put  things  straight  at  eleven 
o'clock  at  night.  My  poor  head 's  all 
muddled  and  aching  abominably." 

"To-morrow  morning,  then." 

"There  will  be  no  time  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.    Robert,  has  Jane  gone  to  bed?" 

"No,  she  's  sitting  up.  She  wants  to  speak 
to  you." 

"Will  you  bring  her  to  me,  please?" 

He  rose.  When  he  had  left  the  room 
she  turned  on  Marston  in  a  fury. 


188     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Wilfrid,  you  're  a  beast,  a  perfect  beast." 

"A  man  of  business,  my  dear  Kitty,  very 
often  is.  He 's  paid,  you  know,  for  doing 
beastly  things.'* 

"They  come  easy  to  you." 

"Is  that  all  the  thanks  I  get  for  playing 
up  to  you  ?     I  gave  you  every  point,  too." 

She  raged  dumbly. 

"I  can't  congratulate  you  on  your  skill  in 
the  game.  You  'd  have  given  yourself  away 
ten  times  over  —  if  I  hadn't  stopped  you." 

"What  are  you  waiting  for  now,  then.^" 

"I  have  not  said  good  night  to  your  friend 
Mr.  Lucy,  nor  to  you." 

"You  can  say  good  night  to  me  now, 
and  good  bye.     I  shall  not  see  you  again." 

"Pardon  me,  you  will  see  me  to-morrow 
morning." 

"No.     Never  again.     I  've  done  with  you." 

"My  dear  girl,  you  are  absurd.  Mr. 
Lucy  is  not  going  to  marry  you  to-morrow 
morning,  is  he.^" 

"Well.?" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     189 

"And  until  he  marries  you,  you  haven't 
exactly  done  with  me." 

"I  see.  You  want  to  remind  me  that 
the  clothes  on  my  back  belong  to  you." 

He  flushed  painfully. 

*'I  don't  want  to  remind  you  of  anything 
that  may  be  unpleasant  to  you.  I  'm  only  sug- 
gesting that  in  the  circumstances  —  until  you 
marry  him  —  you  can  hardly  refuse  to  see  me." 

"\Miy  should  I  see  you.?  It'll  make  no 
difference." 

"To  me,  none.  To  you  it  may  possibly 
make  a  considerable  difference.  There  are 
some  points  you  have  evidently  not  thought 
of,  which  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  talk 
over  before  you  think  of  marrying." 

She   capitulated. 

"If  I  see  you  to-morrow,  will  you  go 
now.?" 

"I  will  go,  my  dear  Kitty,  the  precise 
moment  I  see  fit.  If  I  were  you  I  should 
wipe  that  expression  from  my  face  before 
Mr.  Lucy  comes  in.     He  might  not  like  it. 


190     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

The  pocket-handkerchief  might  be  used  with 
advantage  now  —  just  there." 

In  obedience  to  his  indication  she  passed 
her  hand  over  the  flushed  tear-stain.  At 
that  moment  Lucy  entered  with  his  sister. 

Jane,  less  guarded  than  her  brother,  looked 
candidly,  steadily  at  Marston,  whose  face 
instantly  composed  itself  to  reverence  and 
devotion  before  her  young  half -spiritual 
presence. 

Kitty's  voice  was  scarcely  audible  as  she 
murmured  the  ritual  of  introduction. 

Lucy  was  aware  of  her  emotion. 

"I  think,"  said  he,  "as  Mrs.  Tailleur  has 
owned  to  a  bad  headache,  Mr.  Marston  and 
I  had  better  say  good  night." 

Marston  said  it.  There  was  nothing  else 
left  for  him  to  say.  And  as  he  went  through 
the  door  that  Lucy  opened  for  him,  he  cursed 
him  in  his  heart. 

"Jane,"  said  Kitty. 

But  Jane  was  looking  at  the  door  through 
which  Marston  and  Robert  had  just  gone. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     191 


it 


Robert  did  that  very  neatly,"   said  she. 

You  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him,  did  n't  you, 
Kitty?" 

"I've  been  trying  to  get  rid  of  Wilfrid 
Marston  for  the  last  three  weeks." 

She  had  such  wisdom,  mothered  by  fierce 
necessity,  as  comes  to  the  foolish  at  their 
call.  She  was  standing  over  little  Jane  as 
she  spoke,  looking  down  into  her  pure, 
uplifted   eyes. 

"You  've  been  crying,"  she  said. 

"Yes."  Jane's  eyes  were  very  bright,  new- 
washed  with  tears. 

"I  know  why.     It 's  because  of  me." 

"Yes;  but  it 's  all  right  now,  Kitty." 

She  did  not  tell  her  that  ten  minutes  ago 
she,  too,  had  been  out  on  the  Cliff-side  and 
had  had  a  battle  with  herself  there,  and  had 
won  it.  For  little  Jane  there  could  n't  be  a 
harder  thing  in  the  world  than  to  give 
Robert  up.  Of  course  she  had  to  do  it,  so 
there  could  be  no  virtue  in  that.  The  hard 
thing  was  to  do  it  gracefully,  beautifully. 


192     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"WTiat  are  you  going  to  say  to  me, 
Janey?     He  told  you?" 

"Yes;  he  told  me." 

*'Oh,  don't  look  at  me  like  that,  dear. 
Say  if  you  hate  it  for  him." 

"I  don't  hate  it.  Only,  oh,  Kitty,  dear, 
do  you  really  love  him.?" 

"Yes;  I  love  him." 

"But  — you  've  only  known  him  ten  days. 
I  don't  think  I  could  love  a  man  I  'd  only 
known  ten  days." 

"It  makes  no  difference," 

"That's  what  Robert  said.'* 

"Yes;  he  said  it  to  me.  Ah,  I  know 
what  you  mean.  You  think  it 's  all  very 
well  for  him,  because  men  are  different. 
It's  me  you  can't  understand;  you  think  I 
must  be  horrid." 

"Oh  no,  no.  It's  only  —  I  think  I'm 
different,  that 's  all." 

"75  that  all,  Janey.?" 

"Yes." 

"And  will  you  love  me  a  little  if  I  love 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     193 


him  a  great  deal?  Or  do  you  hate  me  for 
loving  him?" 

"Kittv  —  vou  needn't  be  afraid.  The 
more  you  love  him  the  more  I  shall  love 
you." 

"Did  —  did  his  wife  love  him ?  Oh,  ought 
I  to  have  asked  vou  that?" 

Jane  shook  her  head. 

"I  'm  not  sure  that  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

"She  didn't,  then?" 

"Oh  yes,  she  did,  poor  little  thing.  She 
loved  him  all  she  could." 

"And  it  wasn't  enough?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  it  was,  quite.  There 
was  something  wanting.  But  I  don't  think 
Robert  ever  knew  it." 

"He  knows  it  now,"  said  Kitty.  Her 
voice  lifted  with  the  pride  of  passion. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MARSTOX  cancelled  that  appointment 
at  Whitehall.  Somebody  else's  busi- 
ness would  have  to  wait  another  day,  that  was 
all.  He  was  wont  to  settle  affairs  as  they  arose, 
methodically,  punctually,  in  the  order  of 
their  importance.  At  the  moment  his  own 
affair  and  Kitty's  was  of  supreme  impor- 
tance. Until  it  was  settled  he  could  not 
attend  to  anybody  else. 

He  was  determined  not  to  let  her  go. 
He  meant  to  have  her.  He  did  not  yet 
know  precisely  how  he  was  to  achieye  this 
end,  but  as  a  first  step  to  it  he  engaged  a 
room  indefinitely  at  the  ]Metropole.  There 
was  nothing  like  being  on  the  spot.  He 
would  consider  himself  defeated  when  Lucy 
had  actually  married  her.  Meanwhile,  he  was 
uplifted  by  his  supreme  distrust  of  the  eyent. 

His    riyal    had    made    a    yery    favourable 

194 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     195 

impression  on  him,  with  the  curious  effect 
of  heightening  Kitty's  vahie  in  his  eyes. 
Other  causes  contributed,  her  passion  for 
Lucy,  and  the  subtle  purification  it  had 
wrought  in  her  (a  charm  to  which  Marston 
was  by  no  means  unsusceptible),  the  very 
fact  that  his  own  dominion  was  uncertain 
and  his  possession  incomplete. 

Up  till  now  he  had  been  unaware  of  the 
grip  she  had  on  him.  He  had  never  allowed 
for  the  possibility  of  permanence  in  his 
relations  with  her  sex.  The  idea  of  marriage 
was  peculiarly  unsupportable  to  him.  Even 
in  his  youth  he  had  had  no  love  affairs, 
avowed  and  sanctioned.  Though  Marston 
professed  the  utmost  devotion  to  women 
like  Miss  Lucy,  the  women  whom  his  mother 
and  his  sisters  knew,  he  had  noticed  a  little 
sadly  that  he  soon  wearied  of  their  society, 
that  he  had  no  power  of  sustained  com- 
munion with  the  good.  The  unfallen  were 
for  him  the  unapproachable.  Therefore 
he    had    gravitated    by    taste    and    tempera- 


196     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


ment  to  the  women  of  the  underworld. 
There  his  incurable  fastidiousness  drove 
him  to  the  pursuit  of  a  possible  perfection, 
distinction  within  the  limits,  the  inherent 
frailties  of  the  type. 

In  Kittv  Tailieur  he  had  found  even  more 
than  he  was  looking  for.  Kitty  had  certain 
graces,  reminiscent  of  the  upper  world;  a 
heritage  from  presumably  irreproachable 
parents,  that  marked  her  from  the  women 
of  her  class.  She  had,  moreover,  a  way  of 
her  own,  different  from  the  charm  of  the 
unfallen,  different,  too,  from  the  coarse  lures 
of  the  underworld.  Kitty  was  never  rank, 
never  insipid.  She  had  a  few  light  brains 
in  her  body,  and  knew  how  to  use  them, 
woman-like,  for  the  heightening  of  her  charm. 

There  were  other  good  points  about 
Kitty.  Marston  disliked  parting  with  his 
money,  and  he  had  found  Kitty,  so  far, 
inexpensive,  as  women  went. 

For  these  reasons,  so  many  and  so  plausible 
that  they  disguised  the  true  kind  and  degree 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     197 


of  his  subjection,  he  had  before  now  returned 
to  Kitty  more  than  once  after  he  thought 
that  he  had  tired  of  her. 

Only  three  ^yeeks  ago,  on  her  return 
froni  Matlock,  he  judged  that  he  had  come 
to  the  end  of  his  passion  for  her;  and  here 
he  was  again  at  the  very  beginning  of  it. 
Instead  of  perishing  it  had  thrived  on 
absence.  He  found  himself  on  the  verge 
of  a  new  and  unforeseen  adventure,  with 
impulse  sharpened  by  antagonism  and  frus- 
tration. Yet  his  only  chance,  he  knew, 
was  not  to  be  impulsive,  but  cool  rather, 
calculating  and  cautious.  The  fight  he  was 
in  for  would  have  to  be  fought  with  brains; 
his  against  hers. 

He  sent  a  note  to  her  early  in  the  morning 
asking  her  to  see  him  at  nine.  At  nine  she 
saw  him. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  '*you  were  going 
up  to  town  early." 

"I  'm  not  going  up  to  town  at  all,  as  it 
happens,  to-day." 


198     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Isn't  it  rather  a  pity  to  neglect  your 
business?" 

"My  business,  dear  Kitty,  is  not  any 
business  of  yours." 

"I  'm  only  trying  to  make  you  see  that  it 
is  n't  worth  your  while  stopping  out  of  town 
because  of  me." 

He  was  a  little  disconcerted  at  her  divina- 
tion of  his  motives,  her  awareness  of  her 
own   power. 

"Well,  you  see,  though  the  affairs  of 
AMiitehall  are  not  your  affairs,  your  affairs, 
unfortunatelv,  are  mine;  and,  since  I  have 
to  attend  to  them,  I  prefer  to  do  it  at  once 
and  get  it  over.  I  had  some  talk  with  Lucy 
last  night." 

She  turned  on  him.     "Ah,  you  have  given 


me   awav." 


"Did   you    ever   know    me   give    any    one 

^ " 
away .'' 

She  did  not  answer  all  at  once. 

He  was  shocked  at  her  suspicion;  at  the 

things  she  believed  it  possible  for  a  man  to 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     199 

do.  In  the  upper  world,  in  a  set  that  dis- 
cussed its  women  freely,  he  had  never  used 
his  knowledge  of  a  woman  to  harm  her. 
He  had  carried  the  same  scruple  into  that 
other  world  where  Kitty  lived,  where  he 
himself  was  most  at  home,  where  an 
amused,  contemptuous  tolerance  played 
the  part  of  chivalry.  The  women  there 
trusted  him;  they  found  him  courteous  in 
his  very  contempt.  He  had  connived  at 
their  small  deceits,  the  preposterous  hy- 
pocrisies wherewith  they  protected  them- 
selves. He  accepted  urbanely  their  pitiful 
imitations  of  the  lost  innocence.  Kitty, 
moving  reckless  and  high  in  her  sad  circle, 
had  been  scornful  of  her  sisters'  methods. 
Her  soul  was  as  much  above  them  as 
her  body,  in  its  unique,  incongruous  beauty, 
was  above  their  rouge  and  coloured  rai- 
ment. It  was  this  superiority  of  hers 
that  had  brought  her  to  her  present  pass; 
caused  her  to  be  mistaken  for  an  honest 
woman.     In    her    contempt    for    the    under- 


200     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

world's  deceptions  she  had  achieved  the 
supreme  deceit. 

Her  deceit  —  that  was  his  point. 

"Then,"  she  said  presently,  "what  did 
you  say  to  him.'*'* 

"I  said  nothing,  my  dear  child,  in  your 
disparagement.  On  the  contrary,  I  con- 
gratulated him  on  his  engagement.  As  I  'm 
supposed  to  be  acting  as  your  agent,  or 
solicitor,  or  whatever  it  is  I  am  acting  as, 
I  imagine  I  did  right.     Is  that  so.^" 

"Yes;  if  that's  all  you  said.'* 

"It  is  not  quite  all.  I  sustained  my 
character  by  giving  him  a  hint,  the  merest 
hint,  that  in  the  event  of  your  marriage 
your  worldly  position  would  be  slightly 
altered.  We  must  prepare  him,  you  know, 
for  the  sudden  collapse  of  your  income." 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  mantelpiece,  and 
lingered  there  over  the  lighting  of  a  cigarette. 

"You  hadn't  thought  of  that.?"  he  said 
as  he  seated  himself  again. 

"No;  I  had  n't  thought  of  it." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     201 


"Well,  he  didn't  appear  to  have  thought 
of  it  either." 

"AMiat  did  he  say,  when  you  told  him 
that?" 

"He  said  it  didn't  matter  in  the  very 
least." 

"I  knew  he  would." 

"He  said,  in  fact,  that  nothing  mattered." 

"Wiat  did  you  say  then.^" 

"Nothing.     Wiat  could  I  say.^" 

She  looked  at  him,  trying  to  see  deep  into 
his  design,  trusting  him  no  further  than  she 
saw. 

"Look  here,  Kitty,  I  think  you  're  making 
a    mistake,    even    from    your    own    point    of 
view.     You  ought  to  tell  him." 
1  —  can  t. 

"You  must.  He  's  such  an  awfully  decent 
chap,  you  can  't  let  him  in  for  marrying  you 
without  telling  him."  That  was  his  point 
and  he  meant  to  stick  to  it.  "It's  what 
you  might  call  playing  it  low  down  on  a 
guileless   and   confiding   man.     Isn't   it.?" 


202     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Yes,  but  I  can't  tell  him." 

"It's  the  straight  thing,  Kitty." 

"I  know.     But  it  means  giving  him  up." 

"Not  at  all.  He  '11  respect  you  all  the 
more  for  it.     He    ^Yon't  go  back  on  you." 

"He  wouldn't  if  he'd  only  himself  to 
think  of." 

"He  is  n't  bound  to  tell  his  people.  That  's 
another  thing." 

"It  is  n't  his  people  —  it 's  —  it 's  his 
children." 

Marston  became  suddenly  attentive.  "His 
children.^     He's  got  children,  has  he.^" 

"Yes,  two;  two  little  girls." 

That  strengthened  his  point. 

"Then,  my  dear  girl,  you  can't  —  in 
common  decency  —  not  tell  him.  Hang  it 
all,  you  've  got  to  give  the  man  a  chance." 

"A  chance  to  escape.^  You  talk  as  if  I  'd 
set  a  trap  for  him." 

"My  dear  child,  you  have  n't  sense  enough 
to  set  a  trap.  But,  since  there  are  spring- 
guns    in    his    neighbourhood,    I    repeat    that 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     203 


you  ought  to  inform  him  of  the  fact.  I 
dare  say  he  would  n't  funk  a  spring-gun  on 
his  own  account,  but  he  may  not  want  his 
children  to  be  hurt." 

"I  know.  He'd  be  afraid  I  should  con- 
taminate them.  I  would  n't,  ^^ilfrid,  I 
would  n't.  I  would  n't  hurt  them  for  the 
world." 

"I'm  sure  you  wouldn't.  But  he  might 
think  you  would.  The  fathers  of  little  girls 
sometimes  have  strange  prejudices.  You  see 
it  's  all  very  well  as  long  as  you  can  keep 
him  in  his  beautiful  innocence.  But,  if  he 
finds  out  that  you  've  deceived  him,  he  — 
well,  he  might  resent  it." 

He  never  turned  his  eyes  from  that  livid, 
vulnerable  spot,  striking  at  it  with  the  sword- 
thrust  of  his  point. 

*'A  man  can  forgive  many  things  in  a 
woman,  but  not  that." 

"I  must  risk  it.  He  mayn't  find  out  for 
years  and  years.  If  I  tell  him  I  shall  lose 
him  now." 


204    THE  i:m:mortal  moment 

"Not  necessarily.  Not  if  he  cares  for 
you  as  much  as  I  should  say  he  does." 

"It  doesn't  matter  how  much  he  cares. 
He  'd  never  marry  me." 

"No.  He  might  make  another  and  more 
sensible   arrangement." 

"And   then.^"     She   faced   him   with   it. 

"Then  you'll  be  satisfied.  You'll  have 
had  your  fling." 

"And  —  when  —  I  've  —  had  it  .^"  she  said 
slowly. 

"Then,  I  suppose,  I  shall  have  to  take 
you  back." 

"I  see.  That's  where  you  think  you'll 
come  in." 

"I  wasn't  thinking,  at  the  moment,  of 
myself.  The  suggestion  was  thrown  out 
entirely  on  your  behalf,  and  I  may  say  his. 
I  'm  simply  telling  you  what  —  knowing  you 
as  I  do  —  I  consider  the  wiser  course,  for 
both  of  you." 

"You  don't  know.  And  vou  don't  know 
him.     He  would  n't  do  it.    He  is  n't  that  sort." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     205 

She  paused,  brooding  over  it. 

"Besides,  I  couldn't  bear  it.  I  can't  go 
back  to  that." 

*'And  how  many  years  do  you  think 
you  '11  stand  being  proper  and  respectable, 
which  is  what  you  '11  have  to  be  as  long  as 
you  're  Mrs.  Robert  Lucy  ?  It 's  a  stiffish 
job,  my  child,  for  you  to  tackle.  Just  think 
of  the  practical  difficulties.  I  've  accounted 
for  the  sudden,  very  singular  collapse  of  your 
income,  but  there  are  all  sorts  of  things  that 
you  won't  be  able  to  account  for.  The 
disappearance,  for  instance,  of  the  entire 
circle  of  your  acquaintance." 

She  smiled.  "It  would  be  much  more 
awkward  if  it  did  n't  disappear." 

"True.  Still,  a  female  friend  or  two  is 
an  indispensable  part  of  a  married  woman's 
outfit.  The  Lucys  may  n't  mind,  but  their 
friends  may  regard  the  omission  as  peculiar. 
Then  —  you  have  charming  manners,  I  know 
—  but  your  speech  is  apt,  at  times,  to  be 
a     little,     what     shall    I     say.?     Unfettered. 


206     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

The  other  day,  when  you  were  annoyed 
with  me,  you  called  me  a  beast." 

"That's  nothing.  I  might  have  called 
you  something  much  worse." 

*' You  might.  Happily,  you  did  not.  I've 
no  objection  to  the  word;  it  can  be  used  as 
a  delicate  endearment,  but  in  your  mouth 
it  loses  any  tender  grace  it  might  have 
had." 

"I'm  sorry,  Wilfrid." 

"Don't  apologise.  I  didn't  mind.  But 
if  you  call  Lucy  a  beast  he  won't  like  it." 

"I  couldn't.  Besides,  I  shall  be  very 
careful." 

"You  will  have  to  be  extremely  careful. 
The  Lucys  live  in  Hampstead,  I  believe,  and 
Hampstead  enjoys  the  reputation  of  being 
the  most  respectable  suburb  of  London. 
You  've  no  idea  of  the  sort  of  people  you  '11 
have  to  meet  there.  You  '11  terrify  them,  and 
they,  my  poor  Kitten,  will  exterminate  you. 
You  don't  know  what  respectability  is  like." 

"I  don't  care.     I  can  stand  anything." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     207 

"You  think  you  can.  I  know  that  you 
won't  be  able  to  stand  it  for  a  fortnight. 
You  '11  find  that  the  air  of  Hampstead  does  n't 
agree  with  you.  And  wherever  you  go 
it  '11  be  the  same  thing.  You  had  very 
much  better  stick  to  me." 

"To  you.?" 

"You  '11  be  safer  and  happier.  If  you  '11 
stay  with  me " 

"I  never  have  —  stayed  —  with  you." 

"No,  but  I'd  like  you  to." 

He  was  not  going  to  make  love  to  her. 
He  was  far  too  clever  for  that.  He  knew 
that  with  a  woman  like  Kitty,  in  Kitty's 
state  of  mind,  he  had  nothing  to  gain  by 
making  love.  Neither  did  he  propose  to 
pit  his  will  against  hers.  That  course  had 
answered  well  enough  in  the  time  of  his 
possession  of  her.  Passion,  which  was  great 
in  her,  greater  than  her  will,  made  his  will 
powerless  over  her.  His  plan  was  to  match 
the  forces  of  her  brain  with  superior,  with 
overwhelming  forces. 


208     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

He  continued  coldly.  "I  'm  not  satisfied 
with  the  present  arrangement  any  more  than 
you  are.  If  you  '11  stay  with  me  you  shall 
live  where  you  choose;  only  don't  choose 
Park  Lane,  for  I  can't  afford  it.  I  '11  give 
you  any  mortal  thing  I  can  afford." 

"You  think  you  can  give  me  what  Robert 
Lucy 's  giving  me  ?" 

*'I  can  give  you  a  home,  Kitty,  as  long  as 
you  '11  live  in  it.  I  can  give  you  the  advan- 
tages of  marriage  without  its  drawbacks. 
You  won't  be  tied  to  me  a  minute  longer 
than  you  like.  Whereas  you  can't  leave 
Lucy  without  a  scandal." 

"You  think  that  a  safe  arrangement,  do 
you  ?     I  can  leave  you  when  I  want  to." 

"You  can  leave  me  any  day.  So  the 
chances  are  that  you  won't  want  to." 

"And  when  you  're  tired  of  me.^" 

"That's  it.  I  shan't  be  tired  of  you. 
I  've  a  different  feeling  for  you  from  any  I  've 
ever  had  for  any  other  woman,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  you  're  a  different  woman  every 


1^ 


"  'You  won't  be  tied  to  me  a  minute  longer  than  you  like. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     209 


time  I  see  you.     That 's  the  secret  of  your 
fascination.     Didn't  you  know  it.?" 

She  shook  her  head,  but  she  was  not 
attending  to  him. 

"If  you  don't  know  it  there  's  no  harm  in 
telhng  you  that  I  'm  very  fond  of  you." 

"What  earthly  use  is  it,  Wilfrid,  being 
fond  of  me,  as  long  as  I  'm  not  fond  of  you  ?" 

Ah,  that  was  a  mistake.  He  was  on 
perilous  ground.  She  was  strong  there.  She 
matched  his  bloodless,  unblushing  candour 
with    her    throbbing,    passionate    sincerity. 

"That's  all  the  better,"  he  said.  "It 
would  n't  pay  you,  Kitty,  to  be  fond  of  me. 
If  I  thought  you  were  fond  of  me  to-day  it 
would  leave  me  with  nothing  to  look  forward 
to  to-morrow.  If  you  were  as  fond  of  me 
as  you  are  of  Lucy,  it  would  bore  me  horribly. 
What 's  more,  it  would  bore  you.  It  would 
tire  you  out,  and  you  'd  bolt  in  a  week's  time. 
As,  I  can  tell  you,  you  '11  bolt  from  him." 

"You  think  I  shall  do  that.     He  doesn't. 
That 's  why  I  'm  fond  of  him." 


210     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  would  n't  be  too  fond  of  him.  It  never 
pays.  Either  you  '11  tire  of  him  in  a  week, 
or,  if  you  go  on  being  fond  of  him  you  '11 
end  by  being  afraid  of  him.  You  need  never 
be  afraid  of  me." 

"I  am  afraid  of  you." 

"Not  you.  I  understand  you,  Kitty,  and 
he   does  n't." 

"You  mean  you  know  the  worst  of  me  .^" 

"Precisely.  AMiat  's  more,  I  should  con- 
done what  you  call  the  worst  of  you,  and 
he  would  n't." 

"I  know  vou  would.  That 's  whv  I  'm 
afraid  of  you.  You  only  know  the  worst  of 
me,  and  he  —  he  knows,  he  understands,  the 
rest.  There  's  something;  in  me  that  vou  've 
never  seen;  vou  could  n't  see  it;  vou  would  n't 
believe  in  it;  you  'd  kill  it  if  I  stayed  with 
you.     It 's  no  use  talking,  for  I  won't." 

"^Miv  not.'"  he  asked  as  if  nothing  she 
had  said  had  been  of  any  moment. 

"I  've  told  vou  whv  not.  But  I  don't 
expect  you  to  understand  it." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     211 

"If  there  's  anything  in  it  I  shall  under- 
stand it  in  the  end.     I  'm  not  a  fool." 

"No,  you  're  not  a  fool.  I  '11  say  that  for 
you." 

"Unless  it 's  folly  to  be  as  fond  of  you  as 
I  am." 

"Oh,  no,  that 's  not  follv.  You  '11  be  fond 
of  me  just  as  long  as  I  'm  nice  to  look  at;  as 
long  as  it  does  n't  bore  you  to  talk  to  me;  as 
long  as  I  don't  give  you  any  trouble." 

"Good  God!  ^^^ly,  look  at  the  trouble 
you  're  giving  me  now." 

"Yes,  the  trouble  I'm  giving  you  now, 
when  I  'm  young  and  pretty  and  you  can't 
have  me.  But  when  you  have  had  me; 
when  I  'm  tired  out  and  ill  and  —  and  thin; 
will  you  be  fool  enough  to  be  fond  of  me 
then.?" 

"You  have  been  ill,  you  were  ill  last 
night,  and  —  I  've  got  over  it." 

"You  never  came  near  me  when  I  was  ill 
at  Matlock.  You  call  that  giving  me  what 
Robert  Lucy  gives  me  ?     Robert  has  seen  me 


212     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

when  I  've  been  as  ugly  as  sin,  when  my  eyes 
have  been  bunged  up  with  crying.  And  it 
made  no  difference.  He  '11  love  me  when 
I  'm  thin  and  ill  and  old.  When  I  'm  dead 
he'll  love  me." 

He  faced  her  passion  as  it  flamed  up 
before  him,  faced  it  with  his  cold,  meditative 
smile. 

"That 's  just  what  makes  it  such  a  beastly 
shame." 

*'My  not  giving  him  up.^  How  can  I 
give  him  up  .^" 

*'I  see  your  point.  You  think  you  're 
exchanging  a  temporary  affection  for  a 
permanent  one.  You  admit  that  I  shall 
love  you  as  long  as  you  're  nice  to  look  at. 
Very  well.  You  '11  be  nice  to  look  at  for 
some  considerable  time.  I  shall  therefore 
love  you  for  some  considerable  time.  Robert 
Lucy  will  love  you  just  as  long  as  he  believes 
in  you.     How  long  will  that  be.^" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"You   don't   know.     Have   you   calculated 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     213 

the  probable  effect  of  gradual  enlightenment 
on  our  friend's  mind?'* 

"I  've  calculated  nothing." 

"No.  You  are  not  a  calculating  woman. 
I  just  ask  you  to  consider  this  point.  I  am 
not,  as  you  know,  in  the  least  surprised  at 
any  of  your  charming  little  aberrations. 
But  our  friend  Lucy  has  not  had  many 
surprises  in  his  life.  He  '11  come  to  you 
with  an  infinite  capacity  for  astonishment. 
It 's  quite  uncertain  how  he  '11  take  —  er  — 
anything  in  the  nature  of  a  surprise.  And, 
if  you  ask  me,  I  should  say  he  'd  take  it  hard. 
Are  you  going  to  risk  that  ?"" 

He  was  returning  to  his  point  even  when 
he  feigned  to  have  lost  sight  of  it.  Tortured 
and  panting  she  evaded  it  with  pitiful  sub- 
terfuges. He  urged  her  back,  pressing  her 
tender  breast  against  the  prick  of  it. 

"I  'm  going  to  risk  everything,"  she  said. 

"Risk  it,  risk  it,  then.  Tie  yourself  for 
life  to  a  man  vou  don't  know;  who  does  n't 
really  know  you,  though  you  think  he  does; 


214     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


who  on  your  own  showing  would  n't  marry 
you  if  he  did  know.  You  see  what  a 
whopping  big  risk  it  is,  for  he  's  bound  to 
know  in  the  end." 

She  sickened  and  wearied.  *'He  is  not 
bound  to  know.     AVliy  is  he?** 

"Because,  my  dear  girl,  you're  bound  to 
give  yourself  away  some  day.  I  know  you. 
I  know  the  perverse  little  devil  that  is  in 
you.  \Vlien  you  realise  what  you  've  let 
yourself  in  for  you  '11  break  loose,  suddenly 
—  like  that."  He  threw  out  his  arms  as  if 
he  burst  bonds  asunder.  "You  can't  help 
yourself.  You  simply  can't  live  the  life. 
You     may     yearn     for     it,    but    you     can't 

live  it." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  respectable.     It  isn't 

that." 

"What  is  it  then.?" 

"Can't  you  see.?" 

He  looked  at  her  closely,  as  if  he  saw  it 
for  the  first  time. 

"Are  you  so  awfully  gone  on  him.?" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     215 


*'Yes,"  she  said.  "You  won't  tell  him? 
It  '11  kill  me  if  he  knows." 

"You  think  it  will,  but  it  won't." 

"I  shall  kill  myself,  then." 

"Oh  no,  you  won't.  You  only  think  you 
will.     It 's  Lucy  I  'm  sorry  for." 

"And  it 's  me  you  're  hard  on.  You  were 
always  hard.  You  say  you  condone  things, 
but  you  condone  nothing,  and  you  're  not 
good  yourself." 

"No,  I'm  not  good  myself.  But  there  is 
conduct  and  conduct.  I  can  condone  every- 
thing but  the  fraud  you  're  practising  on  this 
innocent  man."  He  rose.  "It's — well  — 
you  see,  it 's  such  a  beastly  shame." 

It  was  to  be  a  battle  of  brains,  and  she  had 
foiled  him  with  the  indomitable  stupidity 
of  her  passion.  But  his  point  —  the  one 
point  that  he  stuck  to  —  was  a  sword  point 
for  her  passion. 

"You  won't  tell  him.^  You  won't  .=  It 
would  be  a  blackguardly  thing  to  do." 

"If  Lucy  was  a  friend  of  mine  I  'm  afraid 


216     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

the  blackguardly  thing  would  be  to  hold  my 
tongue." 

"You'd  tell  him  then?"  she  said.  "You 
would  n't  think  of  me  .^" 

She  came  to  him.  She  laid  her  arms 
upon  his  shoulders.  Her  hands  touched  him 
with  dispassionate,  deliberate,  ineffectual 
caresses,  a  pitiful  return  to  a  discarded 
manner,  an  outrageous  imitation  of  the  old 
professional  cajoleries.  It  was  so  poor  a 
thing  that  it  had  no  power  to  move  him. 
AVhat  moved  him  was  the  look  in  her  eves, 
the  look  which  his  brain  told  him  was  the 
desperate,  incredulous  appeal  of  her  unhappy 
soul. 

"I  don't  know,  Kitty,"  he  said.  "Thank 
heaven,  he  's  not  a  friend  of  mine." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT  WAS  not  from  Marston,  then,  that  she 
had  to  fear  betrayal.  Neither  was  she 
any  more  afraid  of  the  rumours  of  the  Chff 
Hotel.  She  was  aware  that  her  engagement 
to  Robert  Lucy,  unannounced  but  accepted 
for  the  simple  fact  it  was,  had  raised  her 
above  censure  and  suspicion. 

It  had  come  just  in  time  to  occupy  Mrs. 
Jurd  and  Miss  Keating  on  their  way  to 
Surbiton. 

WTien  Kitty  thought  of  Grace  Keating 
she  said  to  herself,  "How  will  Bunny  feel 
now?"  But  her  mortal  exultation  was 
checked  by  her  pity  for  poor  Bunny,  who 
would  have  been  so  happy  if  she  had  been 
married. 

Then  there  were  the  Hankins.  She 
reflected  sanely  that  they  could  n't  be  danger- 
ous, for  they  knew  nothing.     Still  she  did  feel 

217 


218     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

a  little  imeasv  when  she  thought  of  the 
Hankins. 

She  was  thinking  of  them  now  as  she  and 
Robert  sat  on  the  Cliff,  making  the  most  of 
their  last  hour  together  before  the  arrival  of 
the  little  girls. 

"Robert,"  she  said,  "the  Hankins  are 
probably  sitting  down  there  under  the  Cliff. 
Supposing  they  see  us.^" 

"Thev  can't,  we  're  over  their  heads." 

"But  if  they  do  what  do  you  suppose 
thev '11  think?" 

"If  they  think  at  all,  thev '11  have  an 
inkling  of  the  truth.  But  it  is  n't  their 
business.  The  children  will  be  here  soon," 
he  added. 

She  looked  at  him  intentlv.  Was  he 
trying,  she  wondered,  to  reassure  her  that 
the  presence  of  his  children  would  protect 
her.^  Or  was  he  merely  preoccupied  with 
the  thought  of  their  arrival.^" 

"You  don't  mind,"  he  said  presently,  "not 
coming  to  the  station.^" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     219 

He  had  said  that  already  twice  before. 
Wiy  ask,  she  said,  when  he  knew  perfectly 
w^ell  she  did  n't  mind  ? 

Of  course  she  did  n't  mind.  She  knew 
his  idea,  that  they  were  not  to  be  confronted 
with  her  suddenly.  He  meant  to  let  her 
dawn  on  them  beautifully,  with  the  tenderest 
gradations.  He  would  approach  them  with 
an  incomparable  cunning.  He  would  tell 
them  that  they  were  going  to  see  a  very 
pretty  lady.  And  when  they  were  thoroughly 
inured  to  the  idea  of  her,  he  would  announce 
that  the  pretty  lady  was  coming  to  stay 
with  them,  and  that  she  would  never  go 
away. 

She  looked  at  her  watch. 

"We  've  got  another  half-hour  before  they 
come," 

"Kitty,  I  believe  you  're  afraid  of  them.?" 

"Yes,  Robert,  I  'm  afraid." 

"\Miat?     Of  two  small  children.?" 

"'N^liat  are  they  like.?  I  haven't  asked 
you   that." 


220     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"Well,  Janet's  a  queer,  uncanny  little 
person,  rather  long  for  her  age  and  very 
thin " 

"Like  you?" 

"Like  me.  At  first  you  think  she's  all 
legs.  Then  you  see  a  little  white  face  with 
enormous  eyes  that  look  at  you  as  if  she  was 
wondering  what  you  are." 

He  smiled.  His  mind  had  gone  off,  away 
from  her,  to  the  contemplation  of  his  little 
daughter. 

"I  think  she  is  clever,  but  one  never  knows. 
We  have  to  handle  her  very  carefully.  Bar- 
bara 's  all  right.  You  can  pitch  her  about 
like  anything." 

"What  is  Barbara  like.?" 

"  Barbara  ?  She  's  round  and  fat  and  going 
to  be  pretty,  like " 

"Like  her  mother.?" 

"No,  like  Janey,  if  Janey  was  fat.  They  're 
both  a  little  difficult  to  manage.  If  you 
reprove  Barbara,  she  bursts  out  laughing  in 
your  face.     If  you  even  hint  to   Janet  that 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     221 

you  disapprove  of  her,  she  goes  away  some- 
where and  weeps." 

"Poor  little  thing.  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Kitty 
sadly,  "they  're  not  so  very  small." 

"Well,  Janet,  I  believe,  is  seven,  and 
Barbara  is  five." 

"Barbara  is  five.     And,  oh  dear  me,  Janet 


is  seven." 


"Is  that  such  a  very  formidable  age.^" 

She  laughed  uneasily.  "Yes.  That's  the 
age  when  they  begin  to  take  notice,  is  n't  is .''" 

"Oh,  no,  they  do  that  when  they  're  babies. 
Even  Barbara  's  grown  out  of  that.  I  say, 
Kitty,  what  a  lot  you  know." 

"Don't,  Robert."  She  looked  at  him  im- 
ploringly and  put  her  hand  in  his. 

"I  won't,  if  you  '11  only  tell  me  what  I  'm 
not  to  do." 

"You  're  not  to  tease  me  about  the  things 
you  think  I  don't  know.     I  used  to  nurse  my 
little  sisters,  when  I  was  n't  very  big  myself. 
I  can't  nurse  Janet,  or  Barbara,  can  I.^" 
Why  not.?" 


<< 


222     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"They  wouldn't  let  me.  They're  too 
old.     It  won't  be  the  same  thing  at  all." 

"Well,"  said  Robert,  and  paused,  *hiding 
from  her  the  thino^  that  was  in  his  mind. 

"Oh,  Robert,  I  do  wish,  I  do  wish  they 
were  reallv  small." 

"I  'm  sorry,  Kitty.     But  perhaps " 

He   could   not   hide   anything  from   Kitty. 

"No,  Robert,"  she  said,  "I  'm  afraid  there 
won't  be  any  perhaps.  That 's  one  of  the 
things  I  meant  to  tell  you.  But  I  'm  not 
bothering  about  that.  I  meant  —  if  they  were 
little  —  little  things,  I  should  n't  be  so  dread- 
fully afraid  of  them." 

"AMiy.;^  AMiat  do  you  think  they'll  do 
to  you,  Kitty  .^" 

"I  — don't  — know." 

"You  needn't  be  alarmed.  I  believe 
they  're  very  well-behaved.  Jane  has  brought 
them  up  quite  nicely." 

"^Yhat  is  Jane  going  to  do.^" 

"Ah  —  that's  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
about." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MO:\lENT     223 

"You  needn't  ask  me.  You  want  her  to 
stay  and  look  after  them  just  the  same?" 

"No,  not  just  the  same.  I  want  her  to 
stay  and  she  won't.  She  says  it  would  n't  be 
fair  to  you." 

"But  —  if  she  only  would,  that  would 
make  it  all  so  easy.  You  see,  I  could  look 
after  you,  and  she  could  look  after  them." 

"You  don't  want  to  be  bored  with 
them.^" 

"You  know  that  isn't  what  I  mean.  I 
don't  want  them  to  suffer." 

"AMiy  should  they  suffer.^"  There  was 
some  irritation  in  his  tone. 

"Because  I  don't  think,  Robert,  I  'm  really 
fit  to  bring  up  children." 

"I  think  YOU  are.  And  I  don't  mean 
anybody  else  to  bring  them  up.  If  you  're 
my  wife,  Kitty,  you  "re  their  mother." 

"And  they  're  to  be  mine  as  well  as  yours  .'" 

"As  much  yours  as  vou  can  make  them, 
dear." 

"Oh,    how    you    trust    me.     That's    what 


224     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

makes  me  so  afraid.  And  —  do  you  think 
they  '11  really  love  me?" 

"Trust  them  —  for  that." 

"You  asked  me  if  I  could  care  for  you, 
Robert;  you  never  asked  me  if  I  could  care 
for  them.     You  trusted  me  for  that!" 

"I  could  have  forgiven  you  if  you  could  n't 
care  for  me." 

"But  you  couldn't  forgive  me  if  I  didn't 
care  for  them  .^     Is  that  it.'*" 

"No;  I  simply  couldn't  understand  any 
woman  not  caring  for  them.  I  think  you  will 
like  the  little  things,  when  you  've  seen  them." 

"I  '11  promise  you  one  thing.  I  won't  be 
jealous  of  them." 

"  Jealous  ?     Why  on  earth  should  you  be  .^" 

"Some  women  are.  I  was  afraid  I  might 
be  that  sort." 

"AMiy.5" 

"Because  —  oh,  because  I  care  for  you  so 
awfully.  But  that 's  just  it.  That 's  why  I 
can't  be  jealous  of  them.  They  're  yours,  you 
see.     I  can't  separate  them  from  you." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     225 

"Well,  well,  let's  wait  until  you've  seen 
them." 

"Don't  you  believe  me,  Robert?  Women 
do  love  their  children  before  they  've  seen 
them.  I  don't  need  to  see  them.  I  have 
seen  them.     I  saw  them  all  last  night." 

She  looked  away  from  him,  brooding,  as 
if  she  still  saw  them. 

"There's  only  one  person  I  could  be 
jealous  of,  and  I  'm  not  jealous  of  her  any 
more." 

"Poor  Uttle  Jane." 

"It  wasn't  Jane.  It  was  their  mother. 
I  mean  it  was  your  wife." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her.  There  was 
amazement  in  his  kind,  simple  face. 

"I  suppose  you  think  that  's  fiendish  of 
me.?" 

He  did  not  reply. 

"But  —  Robert  —  I'm  not  jealous  of  her 
any  more.  I  don't  care  if  she  was  your 
wife." 

"Kitty,  my  dear  child " 


226     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  don't  care  if  she  had  ten  children  and 
/  never  had  one.  It 's  got  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  She  had  you  for  —  two  years, 
was  n't  it.''" 

''Two  years,  Kitty." 

"Poor  thing;  and  I  shall  have  you  all  my 
life." 

"Yes.  And  so,  if  you  don't  mind,  dear, 
I  'd  rather  you  did  n't  talk  about  that  again." 

"I  'm  sorry.     I  won't  ever  again." 

She  sat  silent  for  a  moment  in  a  sort  of 
penitential    shame.     Then    she    burst    out  — 

"I  'm  not  jealous.  But,  Robert,  if  you 
were  to  leave  me  for  another  woman  it 
would  kill  me.  I  dare  n't  say  that  to  any 
other  man  if  I  cared  for  him.  It  would 
just  make  him  go  and  do  it.  But  I  believe 
somehow  you  'd  think  twice  before  you  killed 
me." 

He  only  smiled  at  this,  and  spoke  gently. 

"Yes,  Kitty,  you're  right.  I  believe  I 
would  think  twice  about  it." 

He    said    to    himself    that    this    fierceness, 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     227 

her  passionate  perversity,  all  that  was  most 
unintelligible  in  her,  was  just  Ejtty's  way — 
the  way  of  a  woman  recklessly,  adorably  in 
love.  It  stirred  in  him  the  very  depths  of 
tenderness.  AMien  she  was  married  (they  must 
marry  very  soon)  she  would  be  happy;  she 
would  understand  him;  she  would  settle  down. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  'm  afraid  I 
must  be  going." 

She  glanced  at  the  hands  of  the  watch 
over  his  shoulder.  "You  need  n't,"  she  said. 
"It  isn't  really  time." 

"Well  — five  minutes." 

The  five  minutes  went.  "Time  's  up,"  he 
said. 

"Oh,  no,  Robert  — not  yet." 

"Kitty  —  don't  you  want  to  see  them.''" 

"I  don't  want  you  to  go." 

"I  'm  coming  back." 

"Yes,  but  it  won't  be  the  same  thing.  It 
never  will  be  the  same  thing  as  now." 

"Poor  Kitty  —  I  say,  I  must  go  and  meet 
them." 


228     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Very  well,"  She  stood  up.  "Kiss  me,'* 
she  said. 

She  took  his  kiss  as  if  it  were  the  last 
that  would  be  given  her. 

They  went  together  to  the  hotel.  Jane 
had  started  five  minutes  ago  for  the  station. 

"It 's  all  right,"  he  said.  'T  '11  catch  her 
up." 

She  followed  to  the  gates  and  looked  down 
the  white  road  where  Jane  had  gone. 

"Let  me  come  with  you — just  a  little 
way  —  to  the  first  lamp-post  on  the  station 
road." 

"Well,  to  the  first  lamp-post." 

At  the  lamp-post  she  let  him  go. 

She  stood  looking  after  him  till  he  swung 
round  the  turn  of  the  road,  out  of  her  sight. 
Then  she  went  back,  slowly,  sad-eyed,  and 
with  a  great  terror  in  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  WAS  not  the  thing  she  had  confessed  to 
him,  fear  of  his  httle  unseen  children,  it 
was  terror,  unconfessed,  uncomprehended,  as  it 
were  foreknowledge  of  the  very  soul  of  destiny 
clothed  for  her  in  their  tender  flesh  and  blood. 
Up  till  now  she  had  been  careless  of  her 
destiny.  She  had  been  so  joyous,  so  defiant 
in  her  sinning.  By  that  charm  of  hers, 
younger  than  youth,  indestructibly  childlike, 
she  had  carried  it  through  with  the  audacity 
of  chartered  innocence.  She  had  propitiated, 
ignored,  eluded  the  more  feminine  amenities 
of  fate.  Of  course,  she  had  had  her  bad 
moments.  She  had  been  sorry,  sometimes, 
and  she  had  been  sick;  but  on  the  whole 
her  powers  had  been  splendidly  recuperative. 
She  had  shown  none  of  those  naked  tender 
spots  that  provoke  destiny  to  strike.  And 
with  it   all   she  had   preserved,   perhaps   too 

229 


230     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

scrupulously,  the  rules  laid  down  for  such 
as  she.  She  had  kept  her  own  place.  She 
had  never  attempted  to  invade  the  sanctuaries 
set  apart  for  other  women. 

It  was  Robert  who  had  tempted  her  to 
that  transgression.  He  had  opened  the 
door  of  the  sanctuary  for  her  and  shut  it 
behind  her  and  put  his  back  against  it.  He 
had  made  her  believe  that  if  she  stayed  in 
there,  with  him,  it  would  be  all  right.  She 
might  have  known  what  Avould  happen.  It 
was  for  such  a  moment,  of  infatuation  made 
perfect,  that  destiny  was  waiting. 

Kitty  had  no  very  luminous  idea  of  its 
intentions.  But  she  bore  in  her  blood  fore- 
bodings, older  and  obscurer  than  the  flashes 
of  the  brain;  and  her  heart  had  swift 
immortal  instincts,  forerunners  of  the  mortal 
hours.  The  powers  of  pain,  infallibly  wise, 
implacably  just,  would  choose  their  moment 
well,  striking  at  her  through  the  hands  of 
the  children  she  had  never  borne. 

If  Robert  found  out  what  she  was  before 


THE  IMMORTAL  M0:MEXT     231 

he  married  her,  he  would  have  to  give  her 
up  because  of  them.  She  knew  better  than 
he  did  the  hold  she  had  over  him.  She 
had  tried  to  keep  him  in  ignorance  of  her 
power,  so  great  was  her  terror  of  what  it 
might  do  to  him,  and  to  her  through  him. 
Yet,  with  all  her  sad  science,  she  remained 
uncertain  of  his  ultimate  behaviour.  That 
was  the  charm  and  the  dang-er  of  him. 
For  fear  of  some  undiscovered,  uncalculated 
quality  in  him  she  had  held  herself  back; 
she  had  been  careful  how  she  touched  him, 
how  she  looked  at  him,  lest  her  hands  or 
her  eyes  should  betray  her;  lest  in  his  heart 
he  should  call  her  by  her  name,  and  fling 
her  from  him  because  of  them.  AMiereas, 
but  for  them,  she  judged  that  whatever  she 
was  he  would  not  give  her  up.  She  was 
not  quite  sure  (you  could  n't  say  ichat  a  man 
like  Robert  would  or  would  n't  do),  but  she 
felt  that  if  she  could  have  had  him  to  her- 
self, if  there  had  been  only  he  and  she, 
facing    the    world,    then,    for    sheer  chivalry, 


232     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

he  simply  could  n't  have  left  her.  Even 
now,  once  he  was  married  to  her  it  would 
be  all  right;  he  couldn't  give  her  up  or 
leave  her;  the  worst  he  could  do  would  be 
to  separate  her  from  them. 

There  was  really  no  reason  then  why  she 
should  be  frightened.  He  was  going  to 
marry  her  very  soon.  She  knew  that,  by 
her  science,  though  he  had  not  said  so.  She 
would  be  all  right.  She  would  be  very 
careful.  It  was  n't  as  if  she  did  n't  want  to 
be  nice  and  to  do  all  the  proper  things. 

And  so  Kitty  cast  off  care. 

Only,  as  she  waited  in  the  room  prepared 
for  the  children,  she  looked  at  herself  in 
the  glass,  once,  to  make  sure  that  there  was 
nothing  in  her  face  that  could  betray  her. 
No;  Nature  had  spared  her  as  yet  and  her 
youth  was  good  to  her.  Her  face  looked 
back  at  her,  triumphantly  reticent,  innocent 
of  memory,  holding  her  charm,  a  secret 
beyond  the  secrets  of  corruption,  as  her 
perfect    body    held    the    mystery     and     the 


THE  IMMORTAL  M0:MENT     233 

prophecy  of  her  power.  Besides,  her  face 
was  different  now  from  what  it  had  been. 
Vulfrid  had  intimated  to  her  that  it  was 
different.  It  was  the  face  that  Robert 
loved;  it  had  the  look  that  told  him  that 
she  loved  him,  a  look  it  never  wore  for  any 
other  man.  Even  now  as  she  thought  of 
him  it  lightened  and  grew  rosy.  She  saw 
it  herself  and  wondered  and  took  hope. 
"That 's  how  I  look  when  I  'm  happy,  is  it.? 
I  'm  always  happy  when  I  'm  with  him,  so," 
she  reasoned,  "he  will  always  see  me  like 
that;  and  it  will  be  all  right." 

Anyhow,  there  would  be  no  unhappiness 
about  his  pretty  lady  when  he  came  back 
with  them. 

She  smiled  softlv  as  she  went  about  the 
room,  putting  the  touches  of  perfection  to 
the  festival.  There  were  roses  everywhere; 
on  the  table,  on  the  mantelpiece;  the  room 
was  sweet  with  the  smell  of  them;  there 
was  a  rose  on  each  child's  plate.  The 
tremulous  movements  of  her  hands  betrayed 


234     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

the  immensity  and  the  desperation  of  her 
passion  to  please.  The  very  waiter  was 
touched  by  her,  and  smiled  secretly  in 
sympathy  as  he  saw  her  laying  her  pretty 
lures.  When  he  had  gone  she  arranged 
the  table  all  over  again  and  did  it  better. 
Then  she  stood  looking  at  it,  hovering  round 
it,  thinking.  She  would  sit  here,  and  the 
children  there,  Janet  between  her  and 
Robert,    Barbara   between   her   and    Jane. 

"Poor  little  things,"  she  said,  "poor 
little  things."  She  yearned  to  them  even 
in  her  fear  of  them,  and  when  she  thought 
of  them  sitting  there  her  lips  moved  in 
unspoken,  pitiful  endearments. 

The  light  from  the  south-west  streamed 
into  the  little  room  and  made  it  golden. 
Everything  in  it  shimmered  and  shone. 
The  window,  flung  wide  open  to  the  veranda, 
framed  the  green  lawn  and  the  shining, 
shimmering  sea.  A  wind,  small  and  soft, 
stirred  the  thin  curtains  to  and  fro,  fanning  the 
warm  air.     The  sunlight  and  heat  oppressed 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     235 


her.  She  shut  her  eyes  and  put  her  hands 
over  them  to  cool  them  with  darkness.  It 
was  a  trick  she  had  when  she  was  troubled. 

She  sat  by  the  window  and  waited  in 
the  strange,  throbbing  darkness  of  hot  eyes 
closed  in  daylight,  a  darkness  smitten  by 
the  sun  and  shot  with  a  fiery  fume. 

They  were  coming  now.  She  heard  feet 
on  the  gravel  outside,  round  the  corner; 
she  heard  Robert's  voice  and  Janey's;  and 
then  little  shuffling  footsteps  at  the  door, 
and  two  voices  shrill  and  sweet. 

Robert  came  in  first  and  the  children 
with  him.  They  stood  all  three  on  the 
threshold,  looking  at  her.  Robert  was 
smiling,  but  the  little  girls  (they  were  very 
little)  were  grave.  His  eyes  drew  her  and 
she  came  toward  them  as  she  was  used  to 
come  to  the  things  of  her  desire,  swift  and 
shy,  with  a  trailing,  troubling  movement; 
the  way  that  he  had  seen  her  come,  swayed 
by  the  rhythm  of  impulse. 

The    children    stood    stock     still     as     she 


236     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


stooped  to  them.  Her  fear  of  them  made 
her  supremely  gentle.  Little  Barbara  put 
up  her  round  rose  face  with  its  soft  mouth 
thrust  forward  in  a  premature  kiss.  Janet 
gave  her  a  tiny  hand  and  gazed  at  her  with 
brooding,  irresponsive  eyes.  Her  little  mouth 
never    moved    as    Kittv's   mouth   touched   it. 

But  little  Barbara  held  out  her  spade  and 
bucket  for  Kitty  to  see.  "Look,  look," 
said  little  Barbara,  "Daddy  gave  them  me  to 
build  castles  in  the  sand."  Barbara  spoke 
so  fast  that  she  panted,  and  laughed  in  a 
divine  superfluity  of  joy. 

Robert  stood  looking  down  from  his 
tremendous  height  at  Barbara,  tenderly  as 
one  who  contemplates  a  thing  at  once  heart- 
rending and  absurd.  Then  his  eyes  turned 
to  Kitty,  smiling  quietly  as  if  they  said, 
"Didn't  I  tell  vou  to  wait  until  vou  'd  seen 
them.^"  Kitty's  heart  contracted  with  a 
sharp,  abominable  pang. 

Then  Janey  took  the  little  girls  to  the 
room  upstairs  where  their  nurse  was.      Bar- 


THE  IMMORTAL  ]\IO:\IENT     237 

bara  looked  back  at  Kitty  as  she  went,  but 
Kitty's  eyes  followed  Janet. 

"Robert,"  she  said,  "will  she  always 
look  at  me  like  that?  Shall  I  never  know 
what  she  is  thinking?" 

"None  of  us  know  what  Janet 's  thinking." 

He  paused. 

"I  told  you  we  had  to  be  very  careful  of 
her." 

"Is  she  delicate?" 

"No.  Physically,  she's  far  stronger  than 
Barbara.  She  's  what  you  call  morally 
delicate." 

She  flushed.     "  ^Miat  do  you  mean,  Robert  ? 

"Well — not  able  to  bear  things.  For  in- 
stance, we  'd  a  small  child  staying  with  us  once. 
It  turned  out  that  she  was  n't  a  nice  child  at 
all.  We  did  n't  know  it,  though.  But  Janet 
had  a  perfect  horror  of  her.  It 's  as  if  she  had 
a  sort  of  intuition.  She  was  so  unhappy  about 
it  that  we  had  to  send  the  child  away." 

His  forehead  was  drawn  into  a  frown  of 
worry  and  perplexity. 


238     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  don't  see  how  she's  to  grow  up.  It 
makes  me  feel  so  awfully  responsible.  The 
world  is  n't  an  entirely  pretty  place,  you 
know,  and  it  seems  such  a  cruel  shame  to 
bring  a  child  like  that  into  it.     Does  n't  it.^" 

'*Yes." 

*' Somehow  I  think  you'll  understand  her, 
Kitty." 

*'Yes,  Robert,  I  understand." 

She  came  to  him.  She  laid  her  hand  on 
the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  stood  by  him. 
Her  eyes  were  shining  through  some  dew 
that  was  not  tears. 

*'What  is  it,  Kitty.?" 

*'Will  you  marry  me  soon.?"  she  said. 
**Very  soon.?"  she  whispered.  *'I  —  I  can't 
wait."     She  hid  her  face  against  his  arm. 

He  thought  it  was  the  motherhood  in  her 
that  was  moved,  that  pleaded,  impatient  for 
its  hour. 

"\Miy  should  we  wait.?  Do  you  suppose 
I  want  to .?" 

*'Hush!"  she  said.     "They  're  coming." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     239 

They  came  a  little  solemnly,  as  beseemed 
a  festival.  Janet,  in  her  long  white  pinafore, 
looked  more  than  ever  the  spiritual  thing 
she  was.  Her  long  brown  hair  hung  down 
her  cheeks,  straight  and  smooth  as  a  parted 
veil,  sharpening  her  small  face,  that  flickered 
as  a  flame  flickers  in  troubled  air.  Beside 
her  little  Barbara  bloomed  and  glowed,  with 
cheeks  full-blown,  and  cropped  head  flower- 
ing into  curls  that  stood  on  end  in  brown 
tufts,  and  tawny  feathers,  and  little  crests  of 
gold.  They  took  their  places,  pensively,  at 
the  table. 

They  had  beautiful  manners,  Robert's 
children;  little  exquisite,  gentle  ways  of 
approaching  and  of  handling  things.  They 
held  themselves  very  erect,  with  a  secure, 
diminutive  distinction.  Kitty's  heart  sank 
deeper  as  she  looked  at  them.  Even  Barbara, 
who  was  so  very  young,  carried  her  small 
perfections  intact  through  all  the  spontaneities 
of  her  behaviour. 

All  through  tea-time  little  Barbara,  pursued 


240     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

by  her  dream,  talked  incessantly  of  castles 
in  the  sand.  And  when  she  was  tired  of 
talking  she  began  to  sing. 

"Darling,"  said  Jane,  "we  don't  sing  at 
tea-time." 

"7  do,"  said  little  Barbara,  and  laughed. 

Jane  laughed  too,  hysterically. 

Then  the  spirit  of  little  Barbara  entered 
into  Jane,  and  made  her  ungovernably  gay. 
It  passed  into  Kitty,  and  ran  riot  in  her 
blood  and  nerves.  Whenever  Barbara 
laughed  Kitty  laughed,  and  when  Kitty 
laughed  Robert  laughed  too.  Even  Janet 
gave  a  little  shriek  now  and  then.  The 
children  thought  it  was  all  because  they 
had  had  strawberries  and  cream  for  tea,  and 
were  going  down  to  the  sea  to  build  castles 
in  the  sand. 

All  afternoon,  till  dinner-time,  Kitty 
laboured  on  the  sands,  building  castles  as 
if  she  had  never  done  anything  else  in  her 
life.  The  Hankins  watched  her  from  their 
seat  on  the  rocks  in  the  angle  of  the  Cliff. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     241 

"We  were  mistaken.  She  must  be  all 
right.  How  pretty  she  is,  too,  poor  thing," 
said  Mrs.  Hankin  to  her  husband. 

"How  pretty  she  is,  how  absolutely 
lovable  and  good,"  said  Robert  to  himself 
as  he  watched  her,  while  Barbara,  a  tired 
little  labourer,  lay  stretched  in  her  lap.  She 
was  sitting  on  a  rock  under  the  Cliff,  with 
the  great  brow  of  it  for  a  canopy.  Her  eyes 
were  lowered,  and  hidden  by  their  deep  lids. 
She  was  smiling  at  the  child  who  leaned 
back  in  her  arms,  crushing  a  soft  cheek 
against  her  breast. 

He  thrcAv  himself  down  beside  her.  He 
had  just  finished  a  prodigious  fortress,  with 
earthworks  and  trenches  extending  to  the  sea. 

"Kitty,  Kitty,"  he  said,  "you're  only  a 
child  yourself,  like  Janey.  She  's  perfectly 
happy  building  castles  in  the  sand  —  so  are 
you.     You  're  a  perfect  baby." 

"We  're  all  babies,  Robert,  building  castles 
in  the  sand.  And  you  're  the  biggest  baby 
of  the  lot." 


242     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  don't  care.  I  've  built  the  biggest 
castle." 

'*Look  at  Janet,"  said  Kitty.  "She'll  be 
grown  up  before  any  of  us." 

The  child  sat  on  a  rock  with  Jane.  But, 
from  the  distance  that  she  kept,  she  looked 
at  her  father  and  Kitty  from  time  to  time. 
All  afternoon  Janet  had  clung  to  Jane.  But 
when  bed-time  came  Robert  took  her  aside 
and  whispered  something  to  her.  Going 
home  she  walked  by  Kitty,  and  put  her 
hand   in  hers. 

*' Daddy  said  I  'm  to  be  very  kind  to  you." 

"Did  he?     That's  very  kind  of  daddy." 

"  Daddy 's  always  kind  to  people.  Espe- 
cially when  they  've  not  been  very  happy. 
Really  and  truly  I  'm  going  to  be  kind.  But 
you  won't  mind  if  I  don't  love  you  very  soon, 
will  you.?" 

"Of  course  I  won't.  Only  don't  leave  it 
too  late,  darling." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Janet  thought- 
fully; "we  've  lots  of  time." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     243 


"Have  we?" 

'*  Heaps  and  heaps.  You  see,  I  love 
Auntie  Janey,  and  it  might  hurt  her  feehngs." 

"I   see." 

**But  I'm  going  to  give  you  something," 
said  Janet  presently. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  give  me  anything 
that  belongs  to  Auntie  Janey." 

"No,"  said  Janet;  "I  shall  give  you 
something  of  my  own." 

"Oh!  And  you  can't  tell  me  what  it's 
going  to  be  .^" 

"I  must  think  about  it."  The  little  girl 
became  lost  in  thought.  "Barbara  likes 
kissing  people.     I  don't." 

"So  I  see.     It  won't  be  kisses,  then.?" 

"No;  it  won't  be  kisses.  It  will,"  she 
reiterated,  "be  something  of  my  own." 

She  dropped  Kitty's  hand. 

"You  won't  mind  if  I  go  to  Auntie  Janey 
now  t 

Kitty  told  Janey  about  it  afterward,  as 
they  sat  alone  in  the  lounge  before  dinner. 


244     THE  IMIVEORTAL  MOMENT 

"You  mustn't  mind,  Kitty  dear,"  said 
Jane.  '*It  only  means  that  she  's  a  faithful 
little  soul.  She  '11  be  just  as  faithful  to  you 
some  day." 

"Some  day." 

"Don't  sigh  like  that,  Kitty." 

"She  's  like  Robert,  is  n't  she  ?'* 

"Very  like  Robert." 

She  brooded. 

"Janey,"  she  said,  "let  me  have  him  to 
myself  this  evening." 

All  evening  she  had  him  to  herself,  out 
on  the  Cliff,  in  the  place  where  nobody  came 
but  they. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think  of 
them.^" 

"I  think  they  're  adorable." 

"Funny  little  beggars,  aren't  they.^  How 
did  you  get  on  with  Janet  .^" 

She  told  him. 

"That's  Janet's  httle  way.  To  give  you 
something:  of  her  own."  He  smiled  in  tender 
satisfaction,  repeating  the  child's  phrase. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     245 

"It 's  all  right,  Kitty.  She  's  only  holding 
herself  in.     You  're  in  for  a  big  thing." 

She  surveyed  it. 

**I  know,  Robert.     I  know." 

"You're  tired.?  Have  the  children  been 
too  much  for  you  .?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  're  not  to  make  yourself  a  slave  to 
them,  you  know." 

She  looked  at  him. 

"Was  I  all  right,  Robert .?-" 

"You  were  perfect." 

"You  said  I  was  only  a  child  myself." 

"So  you  are.     That 's  why  I  like  you." 

She  shook  her  head  ao;ain. 

"It  's  all  very  well,"  she  said,  "but  that 
is  n't  what  you  want,  dear  —  another  child." 

"How  do  you  know  what  I  want.?" 

*'You  want  somebody  much  nicer  than  I  am." 

He  was  silent,  looking  at  her  as  he  had 
looked  at  Barbara,  enjoying  her  absurdity, 
letting  her  play,  like  the  child  she  was,  with 
her  preposterous  idea. 


246     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Oh,  Robert,  you  do  really  think  I'm 
nice?"  She  came  nearer  to  him,  crying 
out  hke  a  child  in  pain.  He  put  his  arm 
round  her,  and  comforted  her  as  best  he  could. 

"You  child,  do  you  suppose  I'd  marry 
you  if  I  did  n't  think  you  nice  V 

"You  mio;ht.     You  mightn't  care." 

"As  it  happens,  I  do  care,  very  much. 
Anyhow,  I  would  n't  ask  you  to  be  a  mother 
to  my  children  if  I  did  n't  think  you  nice. 
That's  the  test." 

"Yes,  Robert,"  she  repeated,  "that's  the 
test." 

They  rose  and  went  back  to  the  hotel. 
From  the  lawn  they  could  see  the  open  win- 
dow of  the  children's  room.    They  looked  up. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  them,  Kitty?" 
les. 

He  took  her  up  to  them.  They  were 
asleep.  Little  Barbara  lay  curled  up  in  the 
big  bed,  right  in  the  middle  of  it  where  her 
dreams  had  tossed  her.  Janet,  in  the  cot 
beside  her,  lay  very  straight  and  still. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     247 


Robert  signed  to  Kitty  to  come  near,  and 
they  stood  together  and  looked  first  at  the 
children  and  then  into  each  other's  faces. 
Edtty  was  very  quiet. 

"Do  you  like  them?"  he  whispered. 

Her  lips  quivered,  but  she  made  no  sign. 

He  stooped  over  each  bed,  smoothing  the 
long  hair  from  Janet's  forehead,  folding  back 
the  blanket  that  weighed  on  Barbara's  little 
body.  "\Mien  he  turned,  Kitty  had  gone. 
She  had  slipped  into  her  own  room. 

She  waited  till  she  heard  Robert  go  away. 
The  children  were  alone  in  there.  The 
nurse,  she  knew,  was  in  Jane's  room  across 
the  passage.  Jane  was  probably  telling  her 
that  her  master  was  to  be  married  very  soon. 

She  looked  out.  The  door  of  Jane's  room 
was  shut;  so  was  the  door  of  the  children's 
room  through  which  Robert  had  gone  out. 
The  other,  the  door  of  communication,  she 
had  left  ajar.  She  went  softly  back  through 
it  and  stood  again  by  the  children's  beds. 
Janet  was  still  sound  asleep.     Her  fine  limbs 


248     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

were  still  stretched  straight  and  quiet  under 
the  blanket.  Her  hair  was  as  Robert's  hand 
had  left  it. 

Kitty  was  afraid  of  disturbing  Janet's 
sleep.     She  was  afraid  of  Janet. 

She  stooped  over  little  Barbara,  and  turned 
back  the  bedclothes  from  the  bed.  She 
laid  herself  down,  half  her  length,  upon  it 
by  Barbara's  side,  and  folded  her  in  arms 
that  scarcely  touched  her  at  first,  so  light 
they  lay  on  her.  Then  some  perverse  and 
passionate  impulse  seized  her  to  wake  the 
child.  She  did  it  gently,  tenderly,  holding 
back  her  passion,  troubling  the  depths  of 
sleep  with  fine,  feather-like  touches,  with 
kisses  soft  as  sleep. 

The  child  stirred  under  the  caressing 
arms.  She  lay  in  her  divine  beauty,  half 
asleep,  half  awake,  opening  her  eyes,  and 
shutting  them  on  the  secret  of  her  dream. 
Then  Kitty's  troubling  hand  turned  her 
from  her  flight  down  the  ways  of  sleep. 
She  lay  on  her  back,  her  eyes  glimmered  in 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     249 

the  lifting  of  their  lids;  they  opened  under 
Kitty's  eyes  that  watched  them,  luminous, 
large  and  clear.  Her  mouth  curled  under 
Kitty's  mouth,  in  drowsy  kisses  plucked 
from  the  annihilated  dream.  She  drew  up 
her  rosy  knees  and  held  out  her  arms  to 
Kitty's  arms  and  smiled,  half  awake  and 
half  asleep. 

Kitty  rose,  lifting  the  child  with  her  from 
the  bed.  She  held  her  close,  pressing  the 
tender  body  close  to  her  own  body  with 
quivering  hands,  stroking  the  adorable  little 
face  with  her  own  face,  closing  her  eyes 
under  the  touch  of  it  as  she  closed  them 
when  Robert's  face  touched  hers.  She  was 
aware  that  she  had  brought  some  passionate, 
earthly  quality  of  her  love  for  Robert  into 
her  love  for  Robert's  child. 

She  said  to  herself,  "I  'm  terrible;  there  's 
something  wrong  with  me.  This  is  n't  the 
way  to  love  a  child." 

She  laid  the  little  thing  down  again,  freed 
her   neck   from   the   drowsy,  detaining  arms. 


250     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


and  covered  the  small  body  up  out  of  her 
sight.  Barbara,  thus  abandoned,  cried,  and 
the  cry  cut  through  her  heart. 

She  went  into  her  own  room,  and  threw 
herself  on  her  bed  and  writhed  there,  torn 
by  many  pangs.  The  pang  of  the  heart  and 
the  pang  of  the  half-born  spirit,  struggling 
with  the  body  that  held  it  back  from  birth; 
and  through  it  all  the  pang  of  the  mother- 
hood she  had  thwarted  and  disowned.  Out 
of  the  very  soil  of  corruption  it  pierced, 
sharp  and  pure,  infinitely  painful.  It  was 
almost  indiscernible  from  the  fierce  exul- 
tation of  her  heart  that  had  found  fulfilment, 
and  from  the  passion  of  her  body  that  yet 
waited  for  its  own. 

She  undressed  herself,  and  crept  into  her 
bed  and  lay  there,  tortured,  visited  by  many 
memories.  She  gazed  with  terrified,  pitiful 
eyes  into  a  darkness  that  was  peopled  for  her 
with  all  the  faces  she  had  known  in  the  short 
seasons  of  her  sinning;  men,  and  the  women 
who    had    been    her    friends    and    her    com- 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     251 

panions;  and  the  strangers  who  had  passed 
her  by,  or  who  had  lingered  and  looked  on. 
The  faces  of  Robert  and  his  children  hung 
somewhere  on  the  outskirts  of  her  vision, 
but  she  could  not  fix  them  or  hold  them;  they 
were  trampled  out,  ol)literated  by  that  phan- 
tasmal procession  of  her  shames.  Some  faces, 
more  terrible  than  all,  detached  themselves 
and  crovrded  round  her,  the  faces  of  those 
who  had  pursued  her,  and  of  those  whom 
her  own  light  feet  pursued;  from  the  first 
Avho  had  found  her  and  left  her,  to  the  last 
whom  she  herself  had  held  captive  and  let 
go.  They  stood  about  her  bed;  they 
stretched  out  their  hands  and  touched  her; 
their  faces  peered  into  hers;  faces  that  she 
had  forgotten.  She  thrust  them  from  her 
into  the  darkness  and  they  came  again. 
Each  bore  the  same  likeness  to  his  fellow; 
each  had  the  same  looks,  the  same  gestures 
that  defied  her  to  forget.  She  fell  asleep; 
and  the  dreams,  the  treacherous,  perpetually 
remembering,  delivered  her  into  their  hands. 


252     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


She  waked  at  dawn,  with  memory  quick- 
ened by  her  dreams.  She  heard  voices  now, 
all  the  voices  that  had  accused  her.  Her 
mother's  voice  spoke  first,  and  it  was  very 
sad.  It  said,  "I  am  sending  you  away, 
Kitty,  because  of  the  children."  Then  her 
father's  voice,  very  stern,  "No,  I  will  not  have 
you  back.  You  must  stay  where  you  are  for 
your  little  sisters'  sake."  And  her  mother's 
voice  again  —  afterward  —  sad  and  stern, 
too,  this  time,  "iVs  you  made  your  bed,  Kitty, 
you  must  lie.     AVe  can't  take  you  back." 

And  there  was  a  third  voice.  It  said  very 
softly,  "You  can't  have  it  both  ways."  It 
cried  out  aloud  in  a  fury,  "I've  always 
known  it.  You  can't  hide  it.  You  're  full 
of  it."  And  yet  another  voice,  deep  and 
hard,  "You  can't  7iot  tell  him.  It 's  a  shame 
Kitty;  it 's  an  awful  shame." 

She  could  not  sleep  again  for  listening  to 
them. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IT  WAS  morning.  She  dragged  herself  up 
and  tried  to  dress.  But  her  hands  shook 
and  her  head  ached  violently.  She  stretched 
herself  half-dressed  upon  her  bed  and  lay 
there  helpless,  surrendered  to  the  bodily  pain 
that  delivered  her  mercifully  from  the  anguish 
of  her  mind. 

She  saw  no  one,  not  even  Jane  Lucy. 

Outside,  in  the  passage,  and  in  the  inner 
room  she  heard  the  footsteps  of  the  children 
and  their  little  shrill  voices;  each  sound 
accentuated  the  stabbing  pulse  of  pain.  It 
was  impossible  to  darken  the  room,  and  the 
insufferable  sunlight  poured  in  unchecked 
through  the  thin  yellow  blinds  and  plagued 
her  brain,  till  the  nerves  of  vision  throbbed, 
beat  for  beat,  with  the  nerves  of  torment. 
At  noon  she  had  only  one  sensation  of  brilliant 
surging  pain. 

253 


254     THE  IM:\I0RTAL  MOMENT 

She  dozed  and  her  headache  lifted.  ^Yhen 
she  woke  her  body  was  weak  as  if  it  had 
had  a  fever,  but  her  mind  closed  on  reality 
with  the  impact  of  a  force  delayed. 

There  was  a  thing  not  yet  quite  real  to 
her,  a  thing  that  seemed  to  belong  to  the 
region  of  bodily  pain,  to  be  born  there  as  a 
bad  dream  might  be  born;  a  thing  that  had 
been  there  last  night  among  other  things, 
that,  as  she  stared  at  it,  became  more  promi- 
nent, more  poignant  than  they.  And  yet, 
though  its  air  was  so  beckoning  and  so  familiar, 
it  was  not  among  the  number  of  things  accom- 
plished and  irrevocable.  It  was  simply  the 
thing  she  had  to  do. 

It  possessed  her  now;  and  under  its 
dominion  she  was  uplifted,  carried  along. 
Her  mind  moved  toward  it  with  a  reckless 
rocking  speed,  the  perilous  certainty  of  the 
insane. 

At  five  o'clock  she  rang  the  bell  and  asked 
the  servant  to  bring  her  some  tea.  She 
swallowed  a  little  with  a  jerk  of  her  throat, 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     255 


and  put  the  cup  down,  shuddering.  It  brought 
her  a  sickening  memory  of  yesterday. 

At  five  o'clock  she  got  up  and  dressed 
herself  and  sent  a  messao-e  to  Robert  Lucy 
to  see  her  downstairs  in  her  sitting-room, 
alone.  As  she  stood  at  her  glass  she  said 
to  herself,  "How  shocking  I  look.  But  he 
won't  mind." 

At  six  he  was  with  her. 

She  drew  her  hand  away  from  his  as  if 
his  touch  had  hurt  her.  Her  smile  was  the 
still,  bloodless  smile  that  comes  with  pain. 
She  drew  her  chair  back  out  of  the  sunlight, 
in  the  recess  by  the  fireplace.  He  stood 
beside  her  then,  lookin^i:  at  her  with  eyes 
that  loved  her  the  more  for  the  sad  hurt  to 
her  beauty.  His  manner  recalled  the  shy, 
adolescent  uncertainty  of  his  first  approaches. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  said,  "you  ought 
to  have  stayed  in  bed  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  struggled  to  find 
her  voice.     It  came  convulsively. 

"No.     I'm   better.     I'm   all   right   now." 


^56     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"It  was  being  out  in  that  beastly  hot  sun 
yesterday  —  with  those  youngsters.  You  're 
not  used  to  it." 

She  laughed.  "No.  I'm  not  used  to  it. 
Robert  —  you  have  n't  told  them,  have  you .?" 

"Wiat.?" 

"About  you  —  and  me  ?" 

"No.  Not  yet.  He  smiled.  "I  say,  I 
shall  have  to  tell  them  very  soon,  shan't  I  ?'* 

"You  need  n't." 

He  made  some  inarticulate  sound  that 
questioned  her. 

"I've  changed  my  mind.  I  can't  marry 
you." 

He  had  to  bend  his  head  to  catch  her  low, 
indistinct   murmur;   but   he   caught   it. 

He  drew  back  from  her,  and  leaned  against 
the  chimneypiece  and  looked  at  her  more 
intently  than  before. 

"Do  you  mean,"  he  said  quietly,  "because 
oithem?'' 

-Yes." 

He  looked  down. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     257 

*'Poor  Kitty,"  he  said.  "You  think  I'm 
asking  too  much  of  you  ?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"You 're  afraid  .5" 

"I  told  you  I  was  afraid." 

"Yes.  But  I  thought  it  was  all  right.  I 
thought   you   liked   them." 

She  was  silent.  Tears  rose  to  her  eyes  and 
hung  on  their  unsteady  lashes. 

"They  like  you." 

She  bowed  her  head  and  the  tears  fell. 

"Is  that  what  has  upset  you  .^" 
les. 

"I  see.  You've  been  thinking  it  over 
and  you  find  you  can't  stand  it.  I  don't 
wonder.  You  've  let  those  little  monkeys  tire 
you  out.  You  've  nearly  got  a  sunstroke  and 
you  feel  as  if  you  'd  rather  die  than  go  through 
another  day  like  yesterday  ?  Well,  you  shan't. 
There  '11  never  be  another  day  like  yesterday." 

"No.  Never,"  she  said;  and  her  sobs 
choked  her. 

Why   should   there   be }     They  '11  have  a 


(( 


258     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

governess.  You  don't  suppose  I  meant  you 
to  have  them  on  your  hands  all  the  time?" 

She  went  on  crying  softly.  He  sat  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair  and  put  his  arm  round  her 
and  dried  her  eyes. 

"Don't  be  unhappy  about  it,  Kitty.  I 
understand.  You  're  not  marrying  them,  dear; 
you  're  marrying  me." 

She  broke  loose  from  him. 

"I  can't  marry  you,"  she  cried.  "I  can't 
give  you  what  you  want." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  can't  care  for  me.^^ 
Is  that  what  you  're  trying  to  tell  me  all  the 
time  ?" 

He  moved  and  she  cowered  back  into  her 
chair. 

"I  — I    cant    tell    you." 

He  had  turned  from  her.  He  was  leaning 
his  arms  along  the  mantelshelf;  he  had  bowed 
his  head  on  them. 

They  remained  for  some  minutes  so;  she 
cowering  back;  he  with  his  face  hidden 
from  her. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     259 


n 


"  Do  you  mind  telling  me,"  he  said  presently, 

if  there  's  anybody  else  that  you " 

"That   I   care   for?     No,   Robert,   there's 


?  J 


no  one. 

"Are     you     quite     sure?     Quite     honest. 
Think." 

"Do  you  mean  Wilfrid  Marston.^" 
"Yes." 

"I  certainly  do  not  care  for  him." 
He  raised  his  head  at  that;  but  he  did  not 
look  at  her. 

"Thank  God!"  he  said. 
"Do  you  think  as  badly  of  him  as  all  that  ?" 
"Don't  ask  me  what  I  think  of  him." 
"Would  you  think    badly    of    me    if    I'd 
married  him  .^" 

"I  — I  could  n't  have  stood  it,  Kitty." 
"I  am  not  going  to  marry  him." 
"You  have  n't  said  yet  that  you  don't   care 
for  me.^" 

"No.     I  haven't." 

He    turned    and    stooped    over    her,    com- 
pelling her  to  look  at  him. 


260     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"Say  it  then,"  he  said. 

She  drew  back  her  face  from  his  and  put 
up  her  hands  between  them.  He  rose  and 
stood  before  her  and  looked  down  at  her. 
The  blue  of  her  eyes  had  narrowed,  the 
pupils  stared  at  him,  black  and  feverish. 
Her  mouth,  which  had  been  tight-shut,  was 
open  slightly.  A  thin  flush  blurred  its 
edges.  Her  breath  came  through,  short  and 
sharp. 

"You  're  ill,"  he  said.  You  must  go  back 
to  bed." 

"No,"  she  said.  "I've  got  to  tell  you 
something." 

"If  you  do  I  shan't  believe  it." 

"AMiat  won't  you  believe.^" 

"That  you  don't  care  for  me.  I  can't 
believe  it." 

"You'd    better,    Robert." 

"I  don't.  There's  something  wrong. 
You  must  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"There's  nothing  wrong  but  that.  I — I 
made  a  mistake." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     261 

"You  only  thought  you  Hked  me?  Or 
is  it  worse  than  that?" 

"It*s  worse,  far  worse." 

*'I  see.  You  tried  to  like  me,  and  you 
could  n't?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Poor  child.  I  've  been  a  selfish  brute. 
I  might  have  known  you  could  n't.  You  've 
hardly  known  me  ten  days.  But  if  I  wait, 
Kitty  —  if  I  give  you   time   to   think?" 

"If  you  give  me  ten  years  it  would  do  no 
good." 

"I  see,"  he  said;  "I  see." 

He  gripped  the  edge  of  the  mantelpiece 
with  both  his  hands;  his  tense  arms  trembled 
from  the  shoulders  to  the  wrists;  his  hold 
relaxed.  He  straightened  himself  and  hid 
his  shaking  hands  in  his  coat  pockets.  There 
were  tears  at  the  edges  of  his  eyelids,  the 
small,  difiicult  tears  that  cut  their  way  through 
the  flesh  that  abhors  them. 

She  saw  them. 

"  Ah,  Robert— do  you  care  for  me  like  that  ?  " 


262     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"You  know  how  I  care  for  you." 

He  stopped  as  he  swung  away  from  her, 
remembering  that  he  had  failed  in  courtesy. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply,  "for  telling 
me    the    truth." 

He  reached  the  door,  and  she  rose  and 
came  after  him.  He  shook  his  head  as  a 
sign  to  her  not  to  follow  him.  She  saw  that 
he  was  going  from  her  because  he  was  tortured 
and  dumb  with  suffering  and  with  shame. 

Then  she  knew  what  she  must  do.  She 
called  to  him,  she  entreated. 

"Robert  —  don't  go.  Come  back  —  come 
back.     I   can't   bear  it." 

He  came  back  at  that  cry. 

'T   haven't   told   vou    the   truth.     I    lied." 

"When.^"  he  said  sternly. 

"Just  now.  When  I  told  you  that  I  did  n't 
care  for  you." 

"\Yell.?" 

"Sit  down — here,  on  the  sofa.  I'll  try 
and  tell  you." 

He    sat    down    beside   her,    but    not    near. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     263 

She  leaned  forward  with  her  elbows  on  her 
knees,  and  her  head  propped  on  her  clenched 
hands.  She  did  not  look  at  him  as  she  spoke. 
"I  said  I  didn't  care,  because  I  thought 
that  was  the  easiest  way  out  of  it.  Easiest 
for  you.  So  much  easier  than  knowing  the 
truth." 

He  smiled  ^jrimly. 

"Well,  you  see  how  easy  it  's  been." 
*'Yes."     She   paused.     "The    truth    isn't 
going  to  be  easy  either." 

"Let's  haye  it,  all  the  same,  Kitty." 
"You're  going  to  haye  it."     She  paused 
again,    breathing    hard.     "Haye    you    neyer 
wondered  why  the  people  here  ayoided  me  .^ 
You  know  they  thouo-ht  thincjs." 

"As  if  it  mattered  what  they  thought." 
"They  were  right.  There  teas  something." 
She  heard  him  draw  a  deep  breath.  He, 
too,  leaned  forward  now,  in  the  same  attitude 
as  she,  as  if  he  were  the  participator  of  her 
confession,  and  the  accomplice  of  her  shame. 
His  face  was   leyel  with  hers,   but  his   eyes 


264     THE  IMMORTAL  M0:MENT 

looked  straight  past  her,  untainted  and 
clear. 

"Wiat  if  there  was?"  he  said.  "It  makes 
no    difference." 

She  turned  her  sad  face  to  his. 

*' Don't  you  know,  Robert.^  Don't  you 
know.^" 

He  frowned  impatiently. 

"No,  I  don't.     I  don't  want  to." 

"You'd  rather  think  I  didn't  care  for 
you  ?  " 

His  face  set  again  in  its  tortured,  dumb  look. 

"You  shan't  think  that  of  me." 

She  leaned  back  again  out  of  his  sight, 
and  he  presented  to  her  his  shoulder,  thrust 
forward,  and  his  profile,  immovable,  dogged, 
and    apparently    unheeding. 

"It's  because  I  cared  for  vou  that  I 
could  n't  tell  you  the  truth.  I  tried  and 
could  n't.  It  was  so  difficult,  and  you  would  nH 
understand.  Then  "Wilfrid  Marston  said  I 
must  —  I  had  to  tell  you." 

He  threw  himself  back  and  turned  on  her. 


THE  IM:M0RTAL  :\I0:MEXT     265 

"^Miat  had  Marston  to  do  with  it?" 

Her  voice  and  her  eyes  dropped. 

"You   see,   he   knew." 

*'I  see." 

He  waited. 

"  I  could  n't  tell  you."    ' 

His  silence  conveyed  to  her  that  he  listened 
since  she  desired  it,  that  he  left  it  to  her  to 
tell  him  as  much  or  as  little  as  she  would, 
and  that  thus  he  trusted  her. 

"I  was  afraid,"  she  said. 

' '  What  ?     Afraid  of  me,  Kitty  ? ' 

"I  thought  it  would  make  you  not  care 
for   me." 

"I  don't  think  anything  you  can  tell  me 
will  make  anv  difference." 

"You  said  yourself  it  would.  You  said 
you.  would  n't  marry  me  if  I  wasn't  nice." 

He  looked  up  impatient  and  surprised. 

"But  we  've  been  through  all  that,"  he  said. 

"No,  we  have  n't.  When  I  said  I  was  n't 
nice  I  meant  there  were  things  I " 


Well  ? 


5J 


me     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"I  —  I  was  n't  married  to  Charley  Tailleur." 

He  took  it  in  silence;  and  through  the 
silence  she  let  it  sink  in. 

"\Miere  is  the  fellow?"  he  asked  presently. 

"He  's  dead.     I  told  you  that." 

"I'd  forgotten," 

There  was  another  silence. 

"Did  you  care  for  him  very  much,  Kitty  .^" 

"I  don't  know.  Yes.  No,  I  don't  know. 
It  was  n't  the  same  thing." 

"Never  mind.  It's  very  good  of  you  to 
tell  me." 

"I  didn't  mean  to." 

"\Miat  made  vou  tell  me .?" 

"Seeing  the  children.  I  thought  I  could 
go  on  deceiving  you;  but  when  I  saw  them 
I  knew  I  could  n't." 

"I  see."  His  voice  softened.  "You  told 
me  because  of  them.  I  'm  glad  you  told 
me."     He  paused  on  that. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "we  must  make  the  best 
of  it." 

"That  makes  no  difference?'* 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     267 

*'No.     Not   now." 

She   sighed. 

"How  long  ago  was  it  ?"  he  asked. 

''Five  years.  Charley  Tailleur  was  the 
first." 

"What.?" 

"The  first.  There  were  others;  ever  so 
many  others.     I  'm  —  that  sort." 

"I    don't    believe   you." 

"You  've  got  to  believe  me.  You  can't 
marry  me,  and  you  've  got  to  see  why." 

She  also  paused.  Her  silences  were  terrible 
to  him. 

"I  thought  you  did  see  once.  It  did  n't 
seem  possible  that  you  could  n't.  Do  you 
remember  the  first  time  I  met  you.?" 

He  remembered. 

"I  thought  you  saw  then.  And  after- 
ward— don't  you  remember  how  you  fol- 
lowed me  out  of  the  room  —  another  night .?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  you  understood,  and  were  too 
shy  to  say  so.     But  you  did  n't.     Then  —  do 


268     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

you  remember  how  I  waited  for  you  at  the 
end  of  the  garden  ?  —  and  how  we  sat  out  on 
the  CHff  ?  I  was  trying  then  —  the  way  I 
always  try.  I  thought  I  'd  make  you  —  and 
you  —  you  would  n't  see  it.  You  only  wanted 
to  help  me.  You  were  so  innocent  and  dear. 
That's   what   made   me   love   you." 

"Oh,"   he   groaned.     "Don't." 

But  she  went  on.  "And  do  you  remem- 
ber how  you  found  me  —  that  night  —  out 
on  the  Cliff.?" 

She  drew  back  her  voice  softly. 

"I  was  sure  then  that  you  knew,  and  that 
when  you  asked  me  to  come  back  with 
you " 

"Look  here,  Kitty,  I  've  had  enough  of  it." 

"You  have  n't,  for  you  're  fond  of  me  still. 
You  are,  are  n't  you  ?" 

"Oh,  my  God!  how  do  I  know.?" 

"/  know.  It 's  because  you  have  n't  taken 
it  in.  What  do  you  think  of  this  ?  You  've 
known  me  ten  days,  and  ten  days  before  that 
I  was  with  Wilfrid   Marston." 


"  'I  want  to  make  you  loathe  me  ...  .  never  see  me  agam. 


THE  IMMORTAL  IMOMEXT     269 

He  had  taken  it  in  at  last.  She  had  made 
it  real  to  him,  clothed  it  in  flesh  and  blood. 

"If  you  don't  believe  me,"  she  said,  "ask 
him.  That 's  what  he  came  to  see  me  for. 
He  wanted  me  to  go  back  to  him.  In  fact, 
I  was  n't  supposed  to  have  left  him." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  as  if  he 
were  tr;ying  to  steady  his  mind  to  face  the 
thing  that  stunned  it. 

"And  you  're  telling  me  all  this  because 
"  he  said  dullv. 

"Because  I  want  to  make  you  loathe  me, 
so  that  you  can  go  away  and  be  glad  that 
you  '11  never  see  me  again.  And  if  it  hurts 
you  too  much  to  think  of  me  as  I  am,  to 
think  that  you  cared  for  me,  just  say  to  your- 
self that  I  cared  for  you,  and  that  I  could  n't 
have  done  it  if  I  'd  been  quite  bad." 

She  cried  out,  "It  would  have  been  better 
for  me  if  I  had  been.  I  should  n't  jeel  then. 
It  would  n't  hurt  me  to  see  little  children. 
I  should  have  got  over  that  long  ago;  and 
I  should  n't  have  cared  for  vou  or  them.     I 


270     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


should  n't  have  been  able  to.  We  get  like 
that.  And  then  —  I  need  n't  have  let  you 
care  for  me.  That  was  the  worst  thing  I 
ever  did.     But  I  was  so  happy  —  so  happy." 

He  could  not  look  at  her;  he  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  she  knew  that 
he  cared  still. 

Then  she  came  and  knelt  down  beside 
him  and  whispered.  He  got  up  and  broke 
away  from  her  and  she  followed  him. 

"You  can't  marry  me  now,''  she  said. 

And  he  answered,  "No." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HE  DID  not  leave  her.  They  sat  still, 
separated  by  the  length  of  the  little 
room,  staring,  not  at  each  other,  but  at  some 
point  in  the  distance,  as  if  each  brain  had 
flung  and  fixed  there  the  same  unspeakable 
symbol  of  its  horror. 

Her  face  was  sharp  with  pain,  was  strangely 
purified,  spiritualised  by  the  immortal  mo- 
ment that  uplifted  her.  His  face,  grown  old 
in  a  moment,  had  lost  its  look  of  glad  and 
incorruptible  innocence. 

Not  that  he  was  yet  in  full  possession  of 
reality.  His  mind  was  sunk  in  the  stupor 
that  follows  after  torture.  It  kept  its  hold 
by  one  sense  only,  the  vague  discerning  of 
profound  responsibility,  and  of  something 
profounder  still,  some  tie  binding  him  to 
Kitty,  immaterial,  indestructible,  born  of 
their  communion  in  pain. 

271 


272     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


It  kept  him  by  its  intangible  compul- 
sion, sitting  there  in  the  same  small  room, 
divided  from  her,  but  still  there,  still  wear- 
ing that  strange  air  of  participation,  of 
complicity. 

And  all  the  time  he  kept  saying  to  him- 
self, ''What  next?" 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"It's  Jane,"  he  said.  "I'll  tell  her  not 
to  come  in.  His  voice  sounded  hoarse  and 
unlike  his  own. 

"  Oh,  may  n't  I  see  her  .^" 

He  looked  up  with  his  clouded  eyes.  "Do 
you  want  to  ?" 

"Yes." 

He  considered.     He  hesitated. 

"Do  you  mind.''" 

"Mind.^"  he  repeated.  As  if,  after  what 
they  had  gone  through,  there  could  ever 
be  anything  to  mind.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  things  would  always  henceforth  be  in- 
substantial, and  events  utterly  unimportant. 
He   tried   with   an   immense   effort   to   grasp 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     273 

this  event  of  Jane's  appearance  and  of  Kitty's 
attitude  to  Jane. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  "perhaps  she  would 
bother  you." 

The  knock  came  again. 

"Robert,"  she  said,  "I  don't  want  her  to 
know  —  what  I  told  you." 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said.     "Come  in." 

Jane  came  in  and  closed  the  door  behind 
her.  She  had  a  letter  folded  tightly  in  her 
hand.  She  stood  there  a  moment,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other.  It  was  Kitty  who 
spoke. 

"Come  in,  Janey,"  she  said.  "I  want 
you." 

Jane  came  forward  and  stood  between 
them.  She  looked  at  Robert  who  hardened 
his  face,  and  at  Kitty  who  was  trembling. 

"Has   anything  happened.?"  she  said. 

And  Kitty  answered,  "No.  Nothing  will 
happen  now.  I  've  just  told  him  that  it 
can't." 

"You  've  given  him  up .?" 


274     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"Yes.    I've — given  —  him  up." 

She  drew  in  her  breath  on  the  "  Yes," 
so  that  it  sounded  Uke  a  sob.  The  other 
words  came  slowly  from  her,  one  by  one, 
as  if  she  repeated  them  by  rote,  without 
knowing  what  they  meant. 

Jane  turned  to  her  brother.  "x\nd  you've 
let  her  do  it  .^  " 

He  was  silent,  still  saying  to  himself, 
-What  next.?" 

"Of  course  he's  let  me.  He  knows  it 
was  the  only  thing  I  could  do." 

"Kitty — what  made  you  do  il?" 

Kitty  closed  her  eyes.  Robert  saw  her  and 
gave  a  low  inarticulate  sound  of  misery.  Jane 
heard  it  and  understood. 

"Kitty,"  she  said,  "have  you  made  him 
believe  you  don't  care  for  him.?" 

She  sat  down  on  the  couch  beside  her 
and  covered  her  hands  w^itli  her  own. 

"It  isn't  true,  Robert,"  she  said.  "She 
doesn't  know  what  she's  doing.  Kitty,  tell 
him  it  isn't  true." 


THE  IMMORTAL  INIOMENT     275 

The  trembling  hands  broke  loose  from 
her.  Kitty  sobbed  once  and  was  still.  At 
the  sound  Robert  turned  on  Jane. 

"Leave  her  alone,"  he  said,  "she  doesn't 
want  to  be  bothered  about  it  now." 

Kitty's  hand  moved  back  along  the  couch 
to  Jane.  "No,"  she  said,  "don't  make  her 
leave  me.     I  'm  going  away  soon." 

He  started  to  that  answer  to  his  question, 
"What  next.?" 

"Tell   me   what   made   vou    do   it.?"    said 

t/ 

Jane  again. 

"Whatever  it  was,"  he  said,  "she's  doing 
perfectly  right." 

"I  know  what  she's  doing.  And  I  know 
why  she  's  doing  it.     Can't  you  see  why.?" 

Robert,  who  had  stood  still  looking  at  her 
helplessly,  turned  away  at  the  direct  appeal 
and  walked  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  the 
room.  He  was  still  saying  to  himself,  "And 
if  she  goes,  what  next.?" 

"She  does  n't  mean  it,  Robert.  It 's  these 
wretched  people  who  have  driven  her  to  it 


276     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

with  the  abominable  things  they  've  said  and 
thought.  You  caiiH  let  her  give  you  up. 
Don't  you  see  that  it  '11  look  as  if  you  did  n't 
believe  in  her,^  And  he  does  believe  in  you, 
Kitty  dear.  He  does  n't  care  what  anybody 
says." 

Kitty  spoke.  "Leave  it  alone,  Janey. 
You  don't  know  what  you  're  talking 
about.  You  don't  even  know  what  it  is  they 
say." 

"I  do,"  said  Jane.  She  rose  and  went  to 
her  brother  and  thrust  the  letter  she  held 
into  his  hand.  "Look  there,  that  came  just 
now." 

He  glanced  at  the  letter,  lit  a  match  and 
set  fire  to  it  and  dropped  the  ashes  into  the 
grate. 

"Look  at  him,  Kitty,  look  at  him,"  she 
cried  triumphantly. 

"^^^lat  was  in  that  letter.^" 

"Nothing  that  matters" 

"AMio  wroteit.5" 

"Nobody  who  matters  in  the  very  least." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     277 

''Was    it    Mr.    Marston?     Tell    me." 

"No." 

"He  wouldn't,"  said  Kitty  thoughtfully. 
It 's  women  who  write  letters.  It  must 
have  been   Grace  Keating.     She  hates  me." 

"I  know  she  hates  you.  Do  you  see  now 
why  Kitty's  giving  you  up.^" 

"She  has  told  me  herself,  Janey.  She 
may  have  more  reasons  than  you  know." 

"She  has  none,  none  that  I  don't  know. 
They  're  all  there  in  that  letter  which  you  've 
burnt.     Can't  you  see  why  it  was  written?" 

"Does  it  matter  why.^" 

"Yes,  it  does  matter.  It  was  written  to 
make  you  give  Kitty  up.  There  's  no  reason 
why  I  should  spare  the  woman  who  wrote 
it.  She  hates  Kitty  —  because  she  wanted 
you  for  herself.  Kitty  knows  that  she  's 
slandered  her.  She  did  it  before  she  went, 
to    her   face,    and    Kitty   forgave    her.     And 

^  I/O 

now  the  poor  child  thinks  that  she  '11  let  you 
go,  and  just  creep  away  quietly  and  hide 
herself  —  from  that.     And  you  'II  let  her  do 


278     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


it  ?  You  believe  her  when  she  says  she 
does  n't  care  for  vou  ?  It  that  is  n't  carino;  — - 
Why  it 's  because  she  cares  for  you,  and  cares 
for  your  honour  more  than  she  does  for  her 
own,  poor  darhng  — 


5> 


"I  know,  Janey.     And  she  knows  I  know." 

"Then  where  's  your  precious  honour  if 
you  don't  stand  up  for  her  ?  She  's  got 
nobody  but  you,  and  if  you  don't  defend 
her  from  that  sort  of  thing " 

She  stood  before  him,  flaming,  and  Kitty 
rose  and  put  herself  between  them. 

"He  can't  defend  me,  Janey.  It's  the 
truth." 


CHAPTER  XX 

OHE  had  left  them  to  each  other.  It  was 
^  eight  o'clock.  She  had  crept  back 
again  to  the  bed  that  was  her  refuge,  where 
she  had  lain  for  the  last  hour,  weeping  to 
exhaustion.  She  had  raised  herself  at  the 
touch  of  a  hand  on  her  hot  forehead.  Jane 
was  standing  beside  her. 

"Kitty,"  she  said,  "will  you  see  Robert 
for  a  moment  ?  He  's  waiting  for  you  down- 
stairs, in  your  room." 

Kitty  dropped  back  again  on  her  pillow 
with  her  arm  over  her  face,  warding  off  Jane's 
gaze. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  can't  see  him.  I 
can't  go  through  that  again." 

"But,  Kitty,  there  's  something  he  wants 
to  say  to  you." 

"There  's  nothing  he  can  say.  Nothing 
—  nothing.     Tell  him   I'm  going   away." 

279 


280     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"You  mustn't  go  without  seeing  him." 

"I  must.     It  's  the  only  way." 

*'For    you — yes.     How    about    him.?" 

Kitty  sighed.  She  stirred  irresolutely  on 
her  pillow. 

*'No,  no,"  she  said.  "I've  done  it  once. 
I  can't  do  it  all  over  again." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Jane,  "it  is  easier  —  not 
to    see    him." 

At  that   Kitty  clenched   her  hands. 

"Easier .?"  she  cried.  "  I  'd  give  my  soul  to 
see  him  for  one  minute  —  one  minute,  Janey." 

She  turned,  stifling  her  sobs  on  her  pillow. 
They  ceased,  and  the  passion  that  was  in 
her  had  its  way  then.  She  lay  on  her  face, 
convulsed,  biting  into  the  pillow;  gripping 
the  sheets,  tearing;  at  them  and  wring-ino^ 
them  in  her  hands.  Her  whole  body  writhed, 
shaken    and    tormented. 

"Oh,  go  away!"  she  cried.  "Go  away. 
Don't  look  at  me!" 

But  Jane  did  not  go.  She  stood  there  by 
the  bedside. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     281 

She  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  adventure. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  been  brought  there 
blindfold,  carried  past  the  border  into  the 
terrible,  alien,  unpenetrated  lands.  Her 
genius  for  exploration  had  never  taken  her 
within  reasonable  distance  of  them.  She 
had  turned  back  when  the  frontier  was  in 
sight,  refusing  all  knowledge  of  the  things 
that  lay  beyond.  And  here  she  was,  in  the 
very  thick  of  it,  at  the  heart  of  the  unex- 
plored, with  her  poor  terrified  eyes  uncovered, 
her  face  held  close  to  the  thing  she  feared. 
And  yet  she  had  passed  through  the  initiation 
without  terror;  she  had  held  her  hand  in 
the  strange  fire  and  it  had  not  hurt  her. 
She  felt  only  a  great  penetrating,  compre- 
hending, incorruptible  pity  for  her  sister 
who  writhed  there,  consumed  and  tortured 
in  the  flame. 

She  knelt  by  the  bedside  and  stretched  out 
her  arm  and  covered  her,  and  Kitty  lay  still. 


it 


You  have  n't  gone  .^"  she  said. 


No,  Kitty. 


282     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Kitty  moved;  she  sat  up  and  put  her 
hands  to  her  loosened  han\ 

"I  '11  see  him  now,"  she  said. 

Kitty  slid  her  feet  to  the  floor.  She  stood 
up,  steadying  herself  by  the  bedside. 

Jane  looked  at  her,  and  her  heart  was 
wrung  with  compassion. 

"No,"  she  said,  "wait  till  you're  better. 
I  '11  tell  him." 

But  Kitty  w^as  before  her  at  the  door, 
leaning  against  it. 

"I  shall  never  be  better,"  she  said.  Her 
smile  was  ghastly.  She  turned  to  Jane  on  the 
open  threshold.  "He  has  n't  got  the  children 
with  him,  has  he  ?    I  don't  want  to  see  them." 

"You  won't   see   them." 

"Can't  he   come   to   me?" 

She  peered  down  the  passage  and  drew 
back,  and  Jane  knew  that  she  was  afraid  of 
being  seen. 

"There  's  nobody  about,"  she  said,  "they  're 
all  in  the  dining-room." 

Still  Kitty  hesitated. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     283 


'*Will  you  come  with  me?"  she  said. 

Then  Jane  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to 
the  room  where  Robert  was,  and  left  her  with 
him. 

He  stood  by  the  hearth,  waiting  for  her. 
His  head  was  bowed,  but  his  eyes,  as  she 
entered,  Ufted  and  fixed  themselves  on  her. 
There  had  gone  from  him  that  air  of  radiant 
and  unconquerable  youth,  of  innocence,  ex- 
pectant and  alert.  Instead  of  it  he  too 
w^ore  the  mark  of  experience,  of  initiation 
that  had  meant  torture. 

"I  hope,"  he  said,  "you  are  rested." 

"Oh  yes." 

She  stood  there,  weak  and  drooping,  lean- 
ing her  weight  on  one  slender  hand,  spread 
palm  dow^nward  on  the  table. 

He  drew  out  a  chair  for  her,  and  removed 
his  own  to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  keeping 
that  barrier  between  them.  In  his  whole 
manner  there  was  a  terrible  constraint. 

"You've   eaten   nothing,"    he    said. 

Neither  had  he,   she  gathered,   nor   Jane. 


284     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

The  trouble  she  had  brought  on  them  was 
jarring,  dislocating,  like  the  shock  of  bereave- 
ment. They  had  behaved  as  if  in  the  presence 
of  the  beloved  dead. 

And  yet,  though  he  held  himself  apart, 
she  knew  that  he  had  not  sent  for  her  to 
cast  her  off;  that  he  was  yet  bound  to  her 
by  the  mysterious,  infrangible  tie;  that  he 
seemed  to  himself,  in  some  way,  her  partner 
and   accomplice. 

Their  silence  was  a  link  that  bound  them, 
and  she  broke  it. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "you  have  something 
to  say  to  me  .^" 

"Yes" — his  hands,  spread  out  on  the 
table  between  them,  trembled  —  "I  have, 
only  it  seems  so  little " 

"Does  it.^  Well,  of  course,  there  isn't 
much  to  be  said." 

"Not  much.  There  aren't  any  words. 
Only,  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I 
don't  realise  what  you  've  done.  It  was 
magnificent." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOIVIENT     285 


He    answered    her    look    of   stupefied    in- 
quiry, 

"Your  courage,   Kitty,   in  telling    me    the 

truth." 

'Oh,  that.     Don't  let's  talk  about  it.'* 

'I  am  not  going  to  talk  about  it.  But  I 
want  you  to  understand  that  what  you  told 
me  has  made  no  difference  in  my  —  in  my 
feeling  for  you." 

"It  must." 

"It  hasn't.  And  it  never  will.  And  I 
want  to  know  what  we  're  going  to  do  next." 

"Next?"  she  repeated. 

"Yes,   next.     Now:' 

"I'm  going  away.  There's  nothing  else 
left  for  me  to  do." 

"And  I,  Kitty?  Do  you  think  I  'm  going 
to  let  you  go,  without " 

She  stopped  him. 

"You  can't  help  yourself." 

"What?  You  think  I'm  brute  enough 
to  take  everything  you  've  given  me,  and  to 
—  to  let  you  go  like  this?" 


286     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


His  hands  moved  as  if  they  would  have 
taken  hers  and  held  them.  Then  he  drew  back. 

"There's  one  thing  I  can't  do  for  you, 
Kitty.  I  can't  marry  you,  because  it  would  n't 
be  fair  to  my  children." 

"I  know,   Robert,   I   know." 

"I  know  you  know.  I  told  you  nothing 
would  ever  make  any  difference.  If  it  were  n't 
for  them  I  'd  ask  you  to  marry  me  to-morrow. 
I  'm  only  giving  you  up  as  you  're  giving 
me  up,  because  of  them.  But  if  I  can't  marry 
you,  I  want  you  to  let  me  make  things  a  little 
less  hard  for  you." 

"How.?" 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  I  don't  believe 
you  've  anything  to  live  on." 

"What  makes  you  think  that .?" 

"Marston  told  me  that  if  you  married  you 
forfeited  your  income.  I  suppose  that  meant 
that  you  had  nothing  of  your  own." 

"It   did." 

"You  've  nothing.?" 

"My  father  would   give   me   fifty  pounds 


THE  IMMORTAL  MO:\IENT     287 

a  year  if  I  kept  straight.  But  he  can't  afl'ord 
it.  It  means  that  my  little  sisters  go  without 
dresses." 

"And  you  've  no  home,  Kitty .^" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"They  can't  have  me  at  home,  you  see." 
He  sighed. 

"If  I  looked  after  you,  Kitty,  do  you  think 
you  would  keep  straight  ?  If  I  made  a 
home  for  you,  somewhere,  where  you  won't  be 
too  unhappy  ?'* 

"You  mean  you  'd  take  care  of  me  ?" 

"Yes.     As  far  as  I  can." 

Her  face  flushed  deeply. 

"No."  she  said.  "No.  I  mustn't  let 
you   do   that." 

"Why  not.?  It 's  nothing,  Kitty.  It 's  the 
least  that  I  can  do.  And  you  'd  be  very 
lonely." 

"I  would.  I  would  be  miserable  —  in 
between." 

"Between.?" 

"  When  you  were  n't   there." 


288     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"Kitty,  dear  child,  I  can't  be  there." 

She  shrank  back,  the  flush  died  out  of  her 
face  and  left  it  white. 

"I  see.  You  didn't  mean  that  I  was  to 
live  with  you.^" 

"Poor  child— no." 

"I  — I  didn't  understand." 
No,"  he  said  gently,  "no." 
You  see  how  hopeless  I  am.^" 

"I  see  what  my  responsibility  would  be 
if  I  left  you  to  yourself." 

And  —  ivhat  do  you  want  to  do  .P" 
T    want    to    provide    for    you    and    your 
future." 

"Dear  Robert,  you  can't  possibly  provide 
—  for  either." 

"I  can.  I've  got  a  little  house  in  the 
country,  if  you  '11  take  it,  and  I  can  spare 
enough  out  of  my  income." 

She  smiled. 

"You  can't  afford  it." 

"If  I  could  afford  to  marry,  I  could  afford 
that." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     289 

"I  see.  It's  a  beautiful  scheme,  Robert. 
And  in  the  Uttie  house  where  I  'm  to  live, 
you  will  come  sometimes,  and  see  me  .^ " 

"I  think  it  would  be  better  not." 

"And  what  am  I  to  do,  if  —  if  things  are 
too  hard  for  me  ?  And  if  you  are  the  only 
one : 

"  Then  you  're  to  send  for  me." 

"I  see.  I  've  only  to  send  for  you  and 
you  '11  come.'^" 

"Of  course   I'll   come." 

"When  I  can't  bear  it  any  longer,  am  I 
to  send  for  you.'^" 

"You're  to  send  for  me  when  you're 
in  any  trouble,  or  any  difficulty  —  or  any 
danger." 

"And  the  way  out  of  the  trouble  —  and 
the  difficulty  —  and  the  danger  ?" 

"Between  us  we  shall  find  the  way." 

"No,  Robert.  Between  us  we  shall  lose 
it.     And  we  shall  never,  never  find  it  again." 

"You  can't  trust  me,  Kitty .^" 

"I  can't  trust  myself.     I  know  how  your 


290     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

scheme  would  work.  I  let  you  do  this 
thing;  I  go  away  and  live  in  the  dear  little 
house  you  '11  give  me;  and  I  let  you  keep 
me  there,  and  give  me  all  my  clothes  and 
things.  x\nd  you  think  that  's  the  way  to 
stop  me  thinking  about  you  and  caring  for 
you  ?  I  shall  be  there,  eating  my  heart  out. 
AYhat  else  can  I  do,  when  everything  I  put 
on  or  have  about  me  reminds  me  of  you, 
every  minute  of  the  day  ?  I  'm  to  look  to 
you  for  everything,  but  never  to  see  you 
until  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  How  long 
do  you  think  I  shall  bear  it  ?  A  woman 
made  like  me  ?  You  know  perfectly  well 
what  the  trouble  and  the  difficulty  and  the 
danger  is.  I  shall  be  in  it  all  the  time.  And 
some  day  I  shall  send  for  you  and  you  '11 
come.  Oh  yes,  you  '11  come ;  for  you  '11 
be  in  it,  too.  It  won't  be  a  bit  easier  for 
you  than  it  is  for  me." 

She  paused. 

*'You  '11  come.  And  you  know  what  the 
end  of  that  will  be." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MO:\IENT     291 

"You  think  no  other  end  is  possible 
between  a  man  and  a  woman?" 

"If  I  do,  it's  men  who  have  made  me 
think  it." 

"Have  I,  Kitty?" 

"No,  not  you.  I  don't  say  your  plan 
would  n't  work  with  some  other  woman.  I 
say  it  's  impossible  between  you  —  and 
me. 

"Because  you  won't  believe  that  I  might 
behave  differently  from  some  other  men?" 

"You  are  different.  And  I  mean  to  keep 
you  so." 

She  rose. 

"There's  onlv  one  wav,"  she  said.  "We 
must  never  see  each  other  again.  We  must  n't 
even  think.  I  shall  go  away,  and  you  're  not 
to  come  after  me." 

"When?" 

"To-morrow.     Perhaps   to-night." 

"And  where,  Kitty?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You    shan't    go,"    he    said.     "I'll    go. 


292     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

You  must  stay  here  until  we  can  think  of 
something." 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  drew  a  hard  sigh, 
as  if  exhausted  with  the  discussion. 

"Robert,  dear,  would  you  mind  not  talking 
any  more  to  me  ?     I  'm  very  tired." 

"If  I  leave  you  will  you  go  to  bed  and  rest  .^" 

"I  think  so.     You  can  say  good  night." 

He  rose  and  came  toward  her. 

"No  — don't  say  it!"  she  cried.  "Don't 
speak  to  me!" 

She  drew  back  and  put  her  hands  behind 
her  as  a  sign  that  he  was  not  to  touch  her. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  her. 
And  as  he  looked  at  her  he  was  afraid,  even 
as  she  was.  He  said  to  himself  that  in  that 
moment  she  was  wise  and  had  done  well. 
For  his  heart  hardly  knew  its  pity  from  its 
passion,  and  its  passion  from  its  fear. 

And  she,  seeing  that  she  stood  between 
him  and  the  door,  turned  aside  and  made 
his  way  clear  for  him. 

And  so  he  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

OHE  stared  at  her  own  face  in  the  glass 
^  without  seeing  it.  Her  brain  was  filled 
with  the  loud,  hurried  ticking  of  the  clock. 
It  sounded  somehow  as  if  it  were  out  of 
gear.  She  felt  herself  swaying  slightly  as 
she  stood. 

She  was  not  going  to  faint  bodily.  It 
seemed  to  her  rather  that  the  immaterial 
bonds,  the  unseen,  subtle,  intimate  con- 
nections were  letting  go  their  hold.  Her 
soul  was  the  heart  of  the  danger.  It  was 
there  that  the  travelling  powers  of  dissolu- 
tion, accelerated,  multiplying,  had  begun 
their  work  and  would  end  it.  Its  moments 
were  not  measured  by  the  ticking  of  the  clock. 

She  had  remained  standing  as  Lucy  had 
left  her,  with  her  back  to  the  door  he  had 
gone  out  by.  She  w^as  thus  unaware  that  a 
servant   of   the   hotel   had   come   in,   that  he 

293 


294     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


had  delivered  some  message  and  was  waiting 
for  her  answer. 

She  started  as  the  man  spoke  to  her  again. 
With  a  great  effort  her  brain  grasped  and 
repeated  what  he  had  said. 

"Mr.   Marston." 

No;  she  was  certainly  not  going  to  faint. 
There  was  no  receding  of  sensation.  It  was 
resurgence  and  invasion,  violence  shaking 
the  very  doors  of  life.  She  heard  the  light, 
tremulous  tread  of  the  little  pulses  of  her 
body,  scattered  by  the  ringing  hammer 
strokes  of  her  heart  and  brain.  She  heard 
the  clock  ticking  out  of  gear,  like  the  small, 
irritable  pulse  of  time. 

She  steadied  her  voice  to  answer. 

"Very  well.     Show  him  in." 

Marston's  face,  as  he  approached  her,  was 
harder  and  stiff er  than  ever;  his  bearing 
more  uncompromisingly  upright  and  cor- 
rect. He  greeted  her  with  that  peculiar 
deference  that  he  showed  to  women  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  yet  to  make.     Decency 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     295 

required  that  he  should  start  on  a  fresh  and 
completely  purified  footing  with  the  future 
Mrs.  Robert  Lucy. 

"It's  charming  of  you,"  he  said,  "to  let 
me  come  in." 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,  Wilfrid." 

Something  in  her  tone  made  him  glance  at 
her  with  a  look  that  restored  her,  for  a 
moment,  to  her  former,  place. 

"That  is  still  more  charming,"  he  replied. 

"I  've  done  what  you  told  me.  I  've  given 
him  up." 

A  heavy  flush  spread  over  his  face  and 
relaxed  the  hard  tension  of  the  muscles. 

"I  thought  you'd  do  it." 

"Well,    I    have    done    it."     She    paused. 

"That 's  all  I  had  to  say  to  you." 

Her  voice  struck  at  him  like  a  blow. 
But  he  bore  it  well,  smiling  his  hard,  reticent 
smile. 

"I  knew  you'd  do  it,"  he  repeated;  "but 
I  did  n't  think  you  'd  do  it  quite  so  soon. 
Why  did  you  ? ' 


i'> 


296     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"You  know  why." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  put  pressure  on  you, 
Kitty.  It  was  your  problem.  Still,  I  'm 
glad  you  've  seen  it  in  the  right  light." 

"You  think  you  made  me  see  it.^" 

"I  should  hope  you  'd  see  it  for  yourself. 
It  was  obvious." 

"AMiat  was  obvious?" 

"The  unsuitability  of  the  entire  arrange- 
ment. Was  it  likely  you  'd  stick  to  it  when 
you  saw  what  you  were  in  for.'*" 

"You  think  I  tired  of  him.?" 

"I  think  you  saw  possibilities  of  fatigue; 
and,  like  a  wise  child,  you  chucked  it.  It  's 
as  well  you  did  it  before  instead  of  after.  I 
say,  how  did  Lucy  take  it.?" 

She  did  not  answer.  His  smile  flickered 
and  died  under  the  oppression  of  her  silence. 

"Have   you    done    with    him    altogether.^ 
He  did  n't  suggest  —  er  —  any  compromise  ? 

"He  did  not." 

"He  wouldn't.  Compromise  is  foreign 
to  his  nature." 


THE  IMMORTAL  M0:MENT     297 

He  sat  leaning  forward,  contemplating, 
with  apparent  satisfaction,  his  own  strong- 
grained,  immaculate  hands.  From  time  to 
time  he  tapped  the  floor  with  a  nervous 
movement  of  his  foot. 

"Then,"  he  said  presently,  "if  that's  so, 
there  's  no  reason,  is  there,  why  you  should  n't 
come  back  to  me.^" 

"I  can't  come  back  to  you.  I  told  you 
so  yesterday.'* 

"Since  yesterday  the  situation  has  altered 
considerably;  or  rather,  it  remains  precisely 
where  it  was  before." 

"No,  Wilfrid;  things  can  never  be  as 
they  were  before." 

"^Miy  not.-  —  if  I  choose  to  ignore  this 
episode,  this  little  aberration  on  your  part. 
You  must  be  equally  anxious  to  forget  it. 
In  which  case  we  may  consider  our  relations 
uninterrupted." 

"Do  you  think  I  gave  Robert  Lucy  up 
to  go  back  to  you.^" 

"My  dear   Kitty,   if  I'm  wilhng   to   take 


298     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

you  back  after  you  gave  me  up  for  him, 
I  think  my  attitude  almost  constitutes  a 
claim. 

"A  claim?"  4 

"Well,  let's  say  it  entitles  me  to  a  hear- 
ing. You  don't  seem  to  realise,  in  the  least, 
my  extreme  forbearance.  I  never  reproached 
you.  I  never  interfered  between  you  and 
Lucy.  You  can't  say  I  did  n't  play  the 
game." 

"I'm  not  saying  it.     I  know  you  didn't 

betray  me." 

"Betray  you.-  My  dear  child,  I  helped 
you.  I  never  dreamed  of  standing  in 
your  way  as  long  as  there  was  a  chance 
of  your  marrying.  Now  that  there  is 
none " 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  told 
you  that  I  would  n't  go  back  to  you  in  any 
case." 

"Come,  I  don't  propose  to  throw  you 
over  for  any  other  woman.  Surely  it  would 
be   more   decent  to   come   back   to  me   than 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     299 

to  go  off  with  some  other  man,  heaven 
knows  whom,  which  is  what  you  must  do  — 
eventually?" 

"It's  what  I  Avon't  do.  I'm  not  going 
back  to  that.  Don't  you  see  that  's  why  I 
won't  go  back  to  vou  ?" 

Her  apathy  had  become  exhaustion.  The 
flat,  powerless  voice,  dying  of  its  own  utter- 
ance, gave  him  a  sense  of  things  past  and 
done  with,  sunk  into  the  ultimate  oblivion. 
No  voice  of  her  energy  and  defiance  could 
have  touched  him  so.  Her  indifference 
troubled  him  like  passion;  in  its  complete- 
ness, its  finality,  it  stirred  him  to  decision, 
to  acceptance  of  its  terms.  She  was  ready 
to  fall  from  his  grasp  by  her  own  dead 
weight.  There  was  only  one  way  in  which 
he  could  hold  her. 

"Kitty,"  he  said,  "is  that  really  why  you 
won't  come  back.^" 

"Yes;  that's  why.  Anything  —  anything 
but  that." 

"I    see.     You're    tired    of    it.?     And   you 


300     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

want  to  give  it  up  ?  Well,  I  'm  not  sure 
that  I  don't  want  you  to." 

"Then  why,"  she  moaned,  *'why  won't 
you  let  me  go  ?" 

"Simply  because  I  can't.  I've  tried  it, 
Kitty.     I  can't." 

He  came  and  sat  close  to  her.  He  leaned 
his  face  to  hers  and  spoke  thickly  and  low. 

"You  can't  give  it  up,  dear.  You  're 
bound  to  go  back." 

"No  —  no  —  no.     Don't  talk  about  it." 

"I  won't.  I  won't  ask  you  to  go  back; 
but  I  can't  do  without  you." 

"Oh    yes,    you    can.      There     are     other 


women." 


"I  loathe  them  all.  I  wouldn't  do  for 
one  of  them  what  I  '11  do  for  you." 

"What  will  you  do  for  me.^" 

"I  '11  marry  you,  Kitty." 

She  laughed  in  her  tired  fashion.  "You 
want  to  make  an  honest  woman  of  me,  do 
you?" 

"No.     I  think  I  'm  endeavouring  to  make 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     301 

myself  an  honest  man.  If  you  give  Lucy 
up  for  me  I  don't  want  you  to  lose  by  the 
transaction.  You  were  to  have  been  married; 
but  for  me  perhaps,  you  would  have  been. 
Very  well,  I  '11  marry  you." 

"And  that,"  said  she,  "will  make  it  all 
right  .5" 

"Well,  won't  it.^" 

"No,  it  won't.     How  could  it?" 

"You  know  how.  It  will  help  you  to 
keep  straight.  That 's  what  you  want,  is  n't 
it.?" 

"Oh  yes,  that's  what  I  want.  And  you 
think  I'll  keep  straight  by  marrying  you.?" 

"I  won't  swear  to  it.  But  I  know  it's 
ten  to  one  that  you  '11  go  to  the  devil  if  you 
don't  marry  me.  And  you  say  you  don't 
want  to  do  that." 

"I  don't  want  —  to  marry  you." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Perhaps  not; 
but  even  marrying  me  might  be  better  than 
the  other  alternative." 

"It  wouldn't,"  she  cried.     "It  would  be 


302     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

worse.  If  I  married  you  I  could  n't  get 
away  from  you.  I  could  n't  get  away  from 
it.  You  'd  keep  me  in  it.  It 's  what  you 
like  me  for  —  what  you  're  marrying  me  for. 
You  have  n't  married,  all  these  years,  because 
you  can't  stand  living  with  a  decent  woman. 
And  you  think,  if  I  marry  you,  it  will  make 
it  all  right.     All  right!" 

She  rose  and  defied  him.  " ^Yhy,  I'd 
rather  be  your  mistress.  Then  I  could  get 
away  from  you.     I  shall  get  away  now. 

She  turned  violently,  and  he  leaped  up 
and  caught  her  in  his  arms.  She  struggled, 
beating  upon  his  breast,  and  crying  with  a 
sad,  inarticulate  cry.  She  would  have  sunk 
to  the  floor  if  he  had  not  kept  his  hold 
of  her. 

He  raised  her,  and  she  stood  still,  breath- 
ing hard,  while  he  still  grasped  her  tightly 
by  the  wrists. 

"Let  me  go,"  she  said  faintly. 

"Where  are  you  going  to.^" 

"I   don't   know." 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     303 


"You  've  no  money.  If  you  're  not  going 
back  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Her  eyelids  dropped,  and  he  saw  mendacity 
in  her  eyes'  furtive  fleeing  under  cover.  He 
held  her  tighter.  His  arm  shook  her,  not 
brutally,  but  with  a  nervous  movement  that 
he  was  powerless  to  control. 

"You  lie,"  he  said.  "You've  been  lying 
to  me  all  the  time.  You  are  going  back. 
You  're  going  to  that  fellow  Lucy." 

"No.  I  'm  going  —  somewhere  —  where  I 
shan't  see  him." 

"TVhere?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Abroad.^" 

"I  think  so." 

"Bv  vourself.^" 

Her    eyelids    quivered,    and    she    panted. 

les. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Let  me  go,"  she  said  again. 

He  let  her  go. 


304     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"You're  going  to  live  —  by  yourself  — 
respectably  —  abroad  ?" 

She  was  silent. 

"And  how  long  do  you  think  that  will 
last?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Jane  Lucy's  voice  called  her  from  the 
door.     He  swore  under  his  breath. 

"Let  her  come  in.     I  want  her." 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  door. 

"WTiat  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  he  reiterated. 

"Oh,  let  her  come  to  me." 

"You  have  n't  answered  my  question." 

"Let  me  see  her  first.  Leave  me  alone 
with  her.     Janey!     Janey!"  she  called. 

"Very  well,"  he  said. 

He  opened  the  door  and  bowed  to  Jane 
Lucy  as  she  entered. 

"I  shall  come  back,"  he  said,  "for  my 
answer." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

DID  Robert  send  you?"  she  asked,  when 
she  was  alone  with  Jane. 
les. 

"It 's  no  good.     I  can't  do  what  he  wants." 

"AAliat  are  you  going  to  do,  dear.?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  care.  The 
terrible  thing  is  that  I  've  had  to  hurt  him. 
I  must  go  away  somewhere." 

"I  '11  come  with  you  and  see  you  through." 

Kitty  shook  her  head. 

"Don't  think  about  it  now,"  said  Jane. 

"No;  I  can't  think.  I'm  too  tired,  and 
my  head  's  hot.  But  if  I  go  away  you  '11 
understand  why  I  did  it.-" 

" Kitty"  —  Jane  whispered  it  —  "you  won't 
go  back.?" 

"No.  I  won't  go  back.  You  won't  have 
to  think  that  of  me." 

She  had  not  looked  at  Jane  as  they  talked. 

305 


306     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

Now  she  turned  to  her  with  eyes  of  anguish 
and  appeal. 

"Janey  —  think.  I've  been  wicked  for 
years  and  years.  I  've  only  been  good 
for  one  moment.  One  moment  —  when 
I  gave  Robert  up.  Do  you  think  it  '11 
count  .^" 

*'I  think  that,  in  the  sight  of  God,  such 
moments  last  forever." 

"And    that's    what    you'll    think    of    me 

by?" 

She  lifted  up  her  face,  haggard  and  white, 
flame-spotted  where  her  tears  had  scorched 
it.     Jane  kissed  it. 

"Do  you  mind  kissing  me.-^" 

"My  dear,  my  dear,"  said  Jane,  and  she 
drew  her  closer. 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  pas- 
sage.    Kitty  drew  back  and  listened. 

"^Mlere's  Robert.^" 

"Upstairs  with  the   children." 

"They'll  be  asleep  by  this  time,  won't 
they.?" 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     307 


*'Fast  asleep." 

The  footsteps  came  again,  approaching 
the  door.  They  paused  outside  it  a  moment 
and  turned  back. 

"Do  you  hear  that.?"  said  Kitty.  "It's 
Wilfrid  Marston  walking  up  and  down. 
He  wants  to  get  hold  of  me.  I  think  he  's 
mad  about  me.  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him  just  now,  and  I  would  n't.  He  thinks 
I  did  n't  mean  it,  and  he  's  coming  back  for 
his  answer.  But  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'm  going 
to  do.  I  shall  go  out  quietly  by  the  window 
and  slip  away,  and  he  won't  find  me.  I 
want  you  to  be  here  when  he  comes,  and 
tell  him  that  he  can't  see  me.  Would  you 
mind  doing  that.?" 

"No." 

"You  '11  stay  here  all  the  time,  and  you 
won't  let  him  go  out  and  look  for  me.?" 
les. 

Kitty  listened  again  for  the  footsteps. 

"He  's  still  there,"  she  whispered. 

"And  you'll  go  to  bed,  Kitty.?" 


308     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 


"Yes;  of  course  I  will.'* 

She  went  out  through  the  window  on  to 
the  veranda,  and  so  on  into  the  garden. 

It  was  cool  out  there  and  unutterably 
peaceful,  with  a  tender,  lucid  twilight  on 
the  bare  grass  of  the  lawn;  on  the  sea  be- 
yond it,  and  on  the  white  gravel  path  by  the 
low  wall  between.  She  saw  it,  the  world 
that  had  held  her  and  Robert,  that,  holding 
them,  had  taken  on  the  ten  days'  splendour 
of  their  passion.  It  stood,  divinely  still  in 
the  perishing  violet  light,  a  world  with- 
drawn and  unsubstantial,  yet  piercingly,  in- 
tolerably near. 

Indoors  Jane  waited.  It  was  not  yet  the 
half-hour.  She  waited  till  the  clock  struck 
and  Marston  came  for  his  answer. 

He  looked  round  the  room,  and  his  face, 
under  its  deference,  betrayed  his  sharp  annoy- 
ance at  finding  himself  alone  with  Miss  Lucy. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "I  thought  that 
Mrs.  Tailleur  was  here." 

"Mrs.  Tailleur  asked  me  to  tell  you  that 


THE  IMMORTAL  ISIOMENT     309 


she   cannot  see   you.     She  has  gone   to  her 


room." 


"To  her  room.?" 

He  stared  at  her,  and  his  face  loosened  in 
a  sudden  increduhty  and  dismay. 

"Did  she  tell  you  she  was  going  there.''" 

"Yes.     She  was  very  tired." 

"But  —  she  was  here  not  half  an  hour 
ago.  She  could  n't  have  gone  without  my 
seeing  her." 

"She  went  out,"  said  Jane  faintly,  "by 
the  window." 

"She  couldn't  get  to  her  room  without 
going  through  the  hall.  I  've  been  there  all 
the  time  on  the  seat  by  the  stairs." 

They  looked  at  each  other  The  seat  by 
the  stairs  commanded  all  ways  in  and  out,  the 
entrance  of  the  passage,  and  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room,  and  the  portiere  of  the  lounge. 

"What  do  you  think .5^"  he  said. 

"I  think  that  she  has  not  gone  far.  But 
if  she  goes,  it  is  you  who  will  have  driven 
her  away." 


310     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

"Forgive  me  if  I  remind  you  that  it  is 
not  I  who  have  given  her  up." 

"It  was  you,"  said  Jane  quietly,  "who 
helped  to  ruin  her." 

His  raised  eyebrows  expressed  an  urbane 
surprise  at  the  curious  frankness  of  her 
charge.  And  with  a  delicate  gesture  of  his 
hand  he  repudiated  it  and  waved  it  away. 

"My  dear  lady,  you  are  alarmed  and  you 
are  angry,  consequently  you  are  unjust. 
Whatever  poor  Kitty  may  have  done  I  am 
not  responsible." 

"You  are  responsible.  It 's  you,  and  men 
like  you,  who  have  dragged  her  down.  You 
took  advantage  of  her  weakness,  of  her 
very  helplessness.  You  've  made  her  so  that 
she  can't  believe  in  a  man's  goodness  and 
trust  herself  to  it." 

He  smiled,  still  with  that  untroubled  ur- 
banity, on  the  small  flaming  thing  as  she 
arraigned  him. 

"And  you  consider  me  responsible  for 
that.^"  he  said. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     311 

Their  eyes  met.  "My  brother  is  here," 
said  she.     "Would  you  hke  to  see  him.^" 

"It  might  be  as  well,  perhaps.  If  you 
can  find  him." 

She  left  him,  and  he  waited  five  minutes 
ten  minutes,  twenty. 

She  returned  alone.  All  her  defiance  had 
gone  from  her,  and  the  face  that  she  turned 
to  him  was  white  with  fear. 

"She  is  not  here,"  she  said  "She  went 
out  —  bv  that  window  —  and  she  has  not 
come  in.  We  've  searched  the  hotel,  and  we 
can't  find  her." 

"And  you  have  not  found  your  brother?" 

"He  has  irone  out  to  look  for  her." 

She  sat  down  by  the  table,  turning  her 
face  away  and  screening  it  from  him  with 
her  hand. 

Marston  gave  one  look  at  her.  He 
stepped  out,  and  crossed  the  lawn  to  the 
bottom  of  the  garden.  The  gate  at  the  end 
of  the  path  there  swung  open  violently,  and  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  Robert  Lucy. 


312     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

*'What  have  you  done  with  Mrs.  Tail- 
leur?"  he  said. 

Lucy's  head  was  sunk  upon  his  breast. 
He  did  not  look  at  him  nor  answer.  The 
two  men  walked  back  in  silence  up  the  lawn. 

'*You  don't  know  where  she  is.^"  said 
Marston  presently. 

"No.  I  thought  I  did.  But  —  she  is 
not  there." 

He  paused,  steadying  his  voice  to  speak 
again. 

"If  I  don't  find  her,  I  shall  go  up  to  town 
by  the  midnight  train.  Can  you  give  me 
her  address  there.'*" 

"You  think  she  has  gone  up  to  town.^" 
Marston  spoke  calmly.  He  was  appeased 
by  Lucy's  agitation  and  his  manifest  ignor- 
ance as  to  Kitty's  movements. 

"There  's  nothing  else  she  could  do.  I  've 
got  to  find  her.  Will  you  be  good  enough 
to  give  me  her  address.^" 

"My  dear  Mr.  Lucy,  there's  really  no 
reason  why  I  should.     If  Mrs.  Tailleur  has 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     313 


not  gone  up  to  town,  her  address  won't 
help  you.  If  she  has  gone,  your  discreetest 
course  by  far,  if  I  may  say  so " 

"Is  what?"  said  Lucy  sternly. 

"Wiy,  my  dear  fellow,  of  course  —  to  let 
her  go." 

Lucy  raised  his  head.  "I  do  not  intend," 
he  said,  "to  let  her  go." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Marston. 

"Then  we  've  neither  of  us  any  time  to 
lose.  I  won't  answer  for  what  she  may  do, 
in  the  state  she  's  in." 

Marston  swung  slightly  round,  so  that  he 
faced  Lucy  with  his  imperturbable  stare. 

"If  you  'd  known  Mrs.  Tailleur  as  long 
as  I  have  vou  'd  have  no  sort  of  doubt  as  to 
what  she  '11  do." 

Lucy  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  him, 
so  sunk  was  he  in  his  own  thoughts. 

"'NMiat  was  that.^"  said  Marston  suddenly. 

They  listened.  The  gate  of  the  Cliff  path 
creaked  on  its  hinges  and  fell  back  with  a 
sharp  click  of  the  latch.     Lucy  turned  and 


314     THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT 

saw  a  small  woman's  figure  entering  the 
garden  from  the  Cliff.  He  strode  on  toward 
the  house,  unwilling  to  be  observed  and 
overtaken  by  any  guests  of  the  hotel. 

Marston  followed  him  slowly,  pondering 
at  each  step  of  the  way. 

He  heard  footsteps,  quick  stumbling  foot- 
steps, and  a  sound  like  a  hoarse,  half-suffocat- 
ing breath  behind  him.  Then  a  woman's 
voice,  that  sank,  stumbling,  like  the  foot- 
steps, as  it  spoke. 

"Mr.  Lucy,"  it  said,  '*is  it  you.?" 

Marston  went  on. 

Lucy  was  in  the  room  with  his  sister. 
He  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  open 
window  as  Marston  came  in  by  it. 

The  voice  outside  was  nearer;  it  whispered, 
"Wiereis  Mr.  Lucy.?" 

"Somebody's    looking    for    you,    Lucy," 
said  Marston. 

And  the  three  turned  round. 

Mrs.  Hankin  stood  in  the  window,  hold- 
ing  on    to    the    frame    of   it   and    trembling. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MOMENT     315 

Her  face,  her  perfect  face,  was  gray,  like 
the  face  of  an  old  woman.  It  was  drawn 
and  disfigured  with  some  terrible  emotion. 

Lucy  went  to  her.  She  clung  to  his  arm. 
and  held  him  on  the  threshold. 

"Mrs.  Tailleur,"  she  said,  "Mrs. 
Tailleur.  We  found  her  —  down  there. 
She  's  killed.     She  —  she  fell  from  the  Cliff." 

The  three  stood  still  as  she  spoke  to  them. 

Then  Jane  rushed  forward  to  her  brother 
with  a  cry,  and  Mrs.  Hankin  stretched  out 
her  arms  and  barred  the  way. 

There  were  small  spots  of  blood  on  her 
hands  and  on  her  dress  where  she  had  knelt. 

"Go  back,  child,"  she  said.  "They're 
carrying  her  in." 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED    ! 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  ar^ubject  to  immediate  recall. 

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(J6057slO)4/6 — A-32                                   Berkeley 

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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


